
MARY T. WAGGAMAN 



Class J " 4I 
Bonk .W 
Copyright )! 0 U ..., 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




















THE UPS AND DOWNS 
OF MARJORIE 























l f A 



Mi 3 


^ ■*' W2&. 



“ Marjorie , this is my sister Martha.” — See page 2S 


THE UPS AND DOWNS 
OF MARJORIE 


BY 

MARY T. WAGGAMAN 

n 


NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO 


BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Publishers of Benziger's Magazine 
1914 



Copyright, 1914, by Benziger Brothers 


APR .18 1914 



©CI.A369728 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

An Interrupted Story 7 

CHAPTER II 

A First Flight. . . 21 

CHAPTER III 

An Adventure 85 

CHAPTER IV 

In the Hunter's Shack 51 

CHAPTER V 

A Bear Story 66 

CHAPTER VI 

Hillcrest 80 

CHAPTER VII 

A Friend in Need 95 

v 


6 


Contents 


CHAPTER VIII 

PAGE 

Shadows of Evil 110 

CHAPTER IX 

Gathering Clouds 125 

CHAPTER X 

Old Selma's Story 138 

CHAPTER XI 

A Visit to New York 151 

CHAPTER XII 

Out in the Darkness 167 

CHAPTER XIII 

Another Friend in Need 179 

CHAPTER XIV 

A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 187 

CHAPTER XV 

St. Vincent's Picnic 196 


The Ups and Downs of 
Marjorie 


CHAPTER i 

AN INTERRUPTED STORY 

TT had been a merry Christmas week, 
A even in the wide white corridors and 
bare rooms of St. Vincent’s Asylum. 
Fifty new blue dresses had been donned 
in honor of the beautiful feast, fifty new 
ruffled aprons pinned into place, fifty 
plump stockings filled with goodies to the 
brim. 

Santa Claus himself, loaded with a big 
sack of nuts and apples, had dropped into 
the playroom, to the shrieking delight of 
the little tots, who were not wise enough 
to recognize Sexton O’Grady’s nose and 
eyes beneath the cap and wig. 

There had been turkey and apple- 
7 


8 An Interrupted Story 

dumpling for dinner three times at least; 
and a party — quite a real party — when 
the little Grosvenors and their beautiful 
lady mother had come over in a big sleigh, 
tinkling with bells, and brought every girl 
a present tied up in bright ribbons; and 
there had been singing and dancing, fol- 
lowed by ice-cream in three colors, and 
cakes and candy to match. Last but not 
least Father Flynn had taken the whole 
asylum to the Zoo. There it was Mar- 
jorie had met with the misfortune for 
which she was doing penance this New 
Year’s Eve. Wild with delight at the 
frosty freedom of the snowy slopes, she 
had lost both head and footing in a wild 
race down a slippery hill, and rent her new 
blue skirt against an unseen barbed fence. 
Sister Angela had sentenced her to “ hard 
labor” in the wardrobe room until the 
jagged tear was darned. 

But there were worse places on a 
wintry afternoon than St. Vincent’s 


9 


An Interrupted Story 

wardrobe room, with its big stove glow- 
ing cheerily, its piles of sweet-smelling 
linen fresh from the laundry waiting the 
sorting, and Nora to talk with, — Nora 
who had darned and patched and mended 
and made, under Sister Mary Ann’s 
teaching, for many more years than Mar- 
jorie could count. 

“And the fairy touched Goldenhair 
with her wand, and then? Oh, go on, 
Nora, please!” pleaded Marjorie. 

“ Faith and this is a nice way to be 
doing your penance, Marjorie Mayne!” 
laughed Nora in reply. “Sister Angela 
sent you up here to mend that skirt and 
not to be listening to blathering talk like 
mine.” 

“Oh, I’ll sew — I’ll keep right on!” 
said Marjorie, hastily picking up her neg- 
lected task. “ But don’t stop, Nora. 
We can talk just the same. It’s holiday 
time yet, and Sister Angela won’t mind.” 

“ I’m not so sure of that,” said Nora, 


10 


An Interrupted Story 

with a sudden recall to the stern path of 
virtue. “ It’s the blessed lives of the 
saints I ought to be giving you instead of 
fairy foolishness, as Sister Mary Ann was 
saying only last night.” 

“ O Nora, no — no, please ! I love to 
hear about fairies and wands and en- 
chanted castles,” said Marjorie, breath- 
lessly. “ I dream about them afterward 
— such beautiful dreams : that I am away 
off, under big trees, with flowers growing 
all around me, and there is a marble palace 
up on the hill, and I have on a lace dress 
and a gold crown.” 

“ The Lord save us! ” exclaimed Nora. 
“ I have no right to be putting such 
dreams into your head, Marjorie dear. 
They’ll do you no good, you poor lone 
orphan ! ” 

“Oh, yes, they will, too — they do!” 
And the blue skirt slid unnoted to . the 
floor, and Marjorie hugged her knees with 
her clasped hands, and spoke eagerly. “ I 


11 


An Interrupted Story 

like to dream that I’m not an orphan at 
all, but a beautiful lady like Mrs. Gros- 
venor. Where could she have got those 
real true violets, when everything is cov- 
ered with snow? ” 

“ In Gold Garden,” laughed Nora, as 
she bit off her thread. “ There’s nothing 
you can’t find in Gold Garden, when you 
have the gate key — ” 

“ Marjorie! ” called a clear, calm voice 
in the hall without. “ Is Marjorie Mayne 
up here? ” 

“ Sister Angela,” whispered Nora. 
“ Pick up that skirt, Marjorie. Sorra 
another word will I speak until you have 
every stitch of it done.” 

And Marjorie hastily snatched up her 
forgotten task, as Sister Angela’s white 
cornette appeared in the doorway. 

“ Oh, here you are ! Dear me, child, 
isn’t that unlucky dress mended yet? ” A 
slight frown darkened the white calm of 
Sister Angela’s brow. “ You must put it 


12 


An Interrupted Story 

away for the present. Mother wants you 
downstairs.” 

“ Mother? O Sister Angela, what have 
I done now? ” 

“Nothing, my dear — that is, nothing 
unusual,” said the Sister, with a grave 
smile. “Marjorie, how often have I 
spoken to you about that untidy hair of 
yours? ” 

“ It just won’t stay smooth, Sister,” re- 
plied Marjorie, making an ineffectual dab 
at a mop of red-brown curls. 

“ I don’t suppose it will,” said Sister 
Angela, hopelessly. “ But that head will 
settle your fate with Miss Talbot. She is 
a very neat and particular old lady, who 
is looking for a little maid to go with her 
to her home in the country. Mother wants 
her to see you with the other children. 
But you won’t suit her, I know.” 

And Sister Angela led the way down 
the broad stairs, Marjorie following her, 
breathless and bewildered. 


13 


An Interrupted Story 

A home in the country — in the coun- 
try! The words were beating a tune in 
Marjorie’s ears. St. Vincent’s, standing 
tall and grim in a wilderness of brick and 
mortar, was the only home that Marjorie 
had ever known. Wisely, tenderly, piti- 
fully, she had been sheltered there; but 
St. Vincent’s was poor in all but charity. 

Brief glimpses of better things had 
come to Marjorie. There had been the 
orphan’s picnic to the great woods behind 
Grosvenor Hall — a long day of breath- 
less delight ; there had been the excursion, 
convoyed by Father Flynn, down the 
river — a revelation of bliss unspeakable 
to Marjorie; there had been the late trip 
to the Zoo, with its snowy slopes, its glit- 
tering groves, its icebound stream. Mar- 
jorie’s young veins tingled yet at the re- 
membrance of that sparkling, dazzling, 
joyous outing. 

A home in the country, among breezy 
hills, waving trees, and broad, free 


14 


An Interrupted Story 

meadows. But, alas! as Sister Angela 
had said, she wouldn't suit at all; and 
Marjorie’s hopes went down to zero as she 
caught sight of the dozen little girls wait- 
ing in Mother’s parlor — an awe-inspiring 
apartment, entered by the children only 
on solemn occasions. There was a rug 
upon the floor — unusual and impressive 
luxury at St. Vincent’s; over the mantel 
there was a picture of the good patron 
saint gathering his helpless little ones 
around him; there were three stiff -backed 
chairs, and a willow rocker that had served 
as a tribunal of justice to many a juvenile 
sinner; there was Mother herself, a serene, 
calm, quiet presence; and the lady at her 
side — a lady who was not like Mrs. Gros- 
venor at all, as Marjorie realized with one 
swift, disappointed glance. She wore 
neither furs nor feathers nor fluffs, but a 
big gray silk bonnet and an old-fashioned 
blanket shawl. She was tall and thin and 
a little bowed. 


15 


An Interrupted Story 

As Marjorie paused shyly on the 
threshold, the lady looked up, and her 
spectacles took in the little waiting figure 
from head to foot. All the other girls 
stood neat and prim in their new blue 
dresses and ruffled aprons, smooth hair, 
and shining shoes. With a burning con- 
sciousness of her deficiencies, Marjorie 
slipped, in half-defiant timidity, to Nellie 
Deane’s side — quiet, kitty-cat Nellie, 
who never had one of her white eyelashes 
out of place. 

44 Sister and I are getting old,” said the 
visitor, 44 and we want a nice little girl to 
save our steps and be a help and comfort 
to us. We will take good care of her, and 
bring her up to be a happy, useful 
woman.” 

44 1 am sure of it,” Mother answered, 
cordially. 44 There is no one I would 
rather trust with one of our children. Miss 
Talbot. I have sent for all the little girls 
over twelve years old, that you may take 


16 An Interrupted Story 

your choice. Manor Hill will be a happy 
home for any of them, I know.” 

“ Stand in line, children, stand in line! ” 
called the clear, calm tones of Sister An- 
gela. “ Then come up one by one, so that 
Miss Talbot can speak to each of you.” 

And one by one the little candidates 
filed up to the visitor, who shook hands 
with each and spoke a pleasant word. 
Marjorie was the last of the line — Mar- 
jorie, burningly conscious of old skirt and 
missing apron and rebellious locks, but 
not the sort of girl to be crushed by these 
deficiencies. Though it took a soldier’s 
courage, she marched up behind Nellie 
Deane, holding her red-brown head as 
high as any of the rest, and defiantly fac- 
ing the trying situation. 

Nellie’s interview with Miss Talbot 
seemed a most approving one. 

“ Nellie — Nellie Deane your name is, 
you say. You seem a very neat, nice-look- 
ing little girl.” 


An Interrupted Story 17 

Nellie smiled and squirmed delightedly. 

“ How old are you, Nellie? ” 

“ Twelve years old, ma’am.” 

“ Would you like to come and be my 
little maid? ” 

“ Oh, yes, ma’am, I would like it very 
much indeed! It would be a blessing, as 
Sister told us, for a poor orphan like me. 
And I’d try to please you, ma’am, and 
keep my place, and do as I was bid always, 
ma’am.” 

“ I think she would,” said Sister An- 
gela. “ Nellie has never given us any 
trouble. She is a very quiet, steady little 
girl.” 

“ Which is more than we can say of this 
young person, 5 ’ observed Mother Thom- 
asina, though her smile was very kind, as 
she patted Marjorie’s curly head. 

“ Bless me ! ” said Miss Talbot, staring. 
“ What a beauti — I mean what a very 
strong, rosy little girl! Your name, my 
dear?” 


18 


An Interrupted Story 

“ Marjorie Mayne,” was the answer, as 
the “ little girl ” looked frankly into the 
old lady’s wrinkled face. 

“ Marjorie,” repeated Miss Talbot 
softly. “ A very pretty name. Would 
you like to live with me in the country, 
Marjorie? ” 

Like it! The light that flashed into 
the brown eyes answered Miss Talbot, 
though Marjorie shook her curly head 
hopelessly. 

“ Sister Angela said I wouldn’t suit 
you at all.” 

“Why not?” asked Miss Talbot, still 
holding Marjorie’s hand, and studying 
the wistful face through her gold-rimmed 
spectacles. 

“ I’m too — too — what am I, Sister 
Angela? ” 

“ Too heedless quite, Miss Talbot,” 
said Sister Angela. “ Really, I don’t 
think we can consider Marjorie at all. 
She is a good-natured, honest little crea- 


19 


An Interrupted Story 

ture,” she continued, as Marjorie moved 
away with the rest; “but so thoughtless, 
restless, full of life and mischief. She 
would be no comfort to you, I fear.” 

“ And you would recommend the other 

— the little white-eyed one — what is her 
name again, please? ” asked the lady. 

“ Nellie Deane. Yes, she is very gentle 
and steady — quite a little woman already. 
You would find her most useful, I know.” 

“ I suppose I would,” remarked Miss 
Talbot, thoughtfully. “ I have no doubt 
I should find her useful, as you say, Sis- 
ter. But, somehow, I don’t fancy her. I 
like the other one the best — the last one 
with the mop of auburn curls.” 

“Not Marjorie Mayne!” exclaimed 
Sister Angela, breathlessly ; while the 
good Mother laughed outright. 

“ Yes, Marjorie — Marjorie,” repeated 
the old lady, softly. “ I always liked the 
name; and the child has such pretty eyes 

— such big, brown, honest eyes! We are 


20 


An Interrupted Story 

two dull old women at Manor Hill, and 
we want something young and bright and 
cheerful about us; so, if you don’t mind, 
Mother, I will take little Marjorie 
Mayne.” 

“ As you please,” answered Mother, 
brightly. “ But don’t say we did not 
warn you. Get the child ready to go, 
Sister Angela. Miss Talbot has made 
her choice. She will take Marjorie 
Mayne.” 


CHAPTER II 

A FIRST FLIGHT 

“TY/TARJORIE! Marjorie! Miss Tal- 
**■ *■* bot has chosen Marjorie Mayne! ” 
The shrill, excited chorus that followed 
Sister Angela’s announcement fell like a 
bewildering buzz on Marjorie’s ear. Miss 
Talbot had chosen her! — her! Oh, it 
could not be! She must be dreaming! 
She had not heard aright. 

But Sister Angela’s voice, always clear 
and calm as the fiat of Fate, soon settled 
matters. 

“ Come upstairs and get your clothes 
together, Marjorie. Miss Talbot wishes 
to take you away with her at once.” 

And, still feeling as if she were not 
altogether awake, Marjorie found herself 


21 


22 


A First Flight 


up in the wardrobe room, with Sister Mary 
Ann folding all her small belongings into 
a bundle, and Nora helping her to don the 
mended skirt and her jacket and hat. 

“Murther! murther!” sighed Nora. 
“ To think of yer being whisked off 
from us all suddint like this! Ye’ll not 
forget me, Marjorie darlint? ” 

“Oh, never, never!” said Marjorie, a 
big lump rising in her throat. “I’ll 
always remember you and the beautiful 
stories you told me, Nora; and how good 
you were to me — you and Mother and 
the Sisters and everybody. Oh, I don’t 
think I want to go, after all! I don’t 
want to leave dear old St. Vincent’s ! ” 
And Marjorie began to cry. 

“ There, there! whisht, darlint, — 
whisht! ” said Nora, wiping her own eyes. 
“ Isn’t it the grand luck for ye to be going 
to such a fine place with holy Christian 
women? But whisper, darlint: if ye’re 
not treated good and fair, send wurrud 


23 


A First Flight 

to me, and I’ll see that ye get a nice place 
as nursemaid with a lady grand as Mrs. 
Grosvenor herself. Aisy now, and let me 
pin yer collar straight. Kape a bould 
harrut, and remember it’s out seeking yer 
fortune ye are like the prince in the story- 
book ; and may ye find a goolden one, will 
be Nora’s prayer for ye day and night.” 

And it was Nora’s good-bye that 
seemed to linger with Marjorie, as, with 
prayers and blessings and loving embraces 
from the only friends and playmates she 
had ever known, she passed out of the 
cross-crowned doorway of St. Vincent’s 
into the cold, snowy, wintry world to seek 
her fortune this New Year’s Eve. 

A sleigh was waiting at the curb — a 
shabby, old-fashioned sleigh, with a raw- 
boned white horse in the traces. 

“ Jump in, child,” said Miss Talbot. 
“ Put your bundle under your feet; for 
my hot bricks are stone-cold by this time, 
and we have a long ride before us. It 


24 A First Flight 

will be good nine o’clock when we get 
home.” 

And Marjorie jumped into a very nest- 
ful of soft cushions and fur robes; while 
Miss Talbot, who wore a short skirt with 
no sort of nonsense about it, and strong, 
heavy, sensible boots, unhitched the horse 
with a practiced hand, took her seat by 
Marjorie, drew on a pair of buckskin 
driving gloves, took up the reins, and the 
party started on its homeward way. 

Marjorie had never been in a sleigh 
before, and, oh, what a wild, delightful 
sweep through the ice-cold air this first 
flight seemed! For Dobbin knew he was 
on the way to stable and supper, and made 
time. The western sky was red with the 
wintry sunset, and the windows every- 
where were flashing back the rays, as if 
lit for some glorious feast. The streets 
were filled with merry crowds ; sleigh 
bells were jingling and horns blowings 
and beautiful stores, still gay with Christ- 


25 


A First Flight 

mas greens and holly berries, were open 
on every side. Marjorie had marched in 
line sometimes through this glittering 
world at noonday, but she had never, 
never seen it like this. On they skimmed 
through the gay, crowded thoroughfares. 

It was all like a swift, bewildering 
dream to Marjorie, until Dobbin’s head 
was turned out to the wide, white turn- 
pike, and they were off indeed, up on 
hills flushed with the last rose of sunset, 
where the snow-wreathed trees were 
touched into a pale mockery of the pink 
bloom of spring. 

Miss Talbot was not much of a talker, 
and, after a few short questions as to 
Marjorie’s warmth and comfort, she 
wrapped herself head and ears in a big 
gray worsted scarf that precluded all 
further sociability, and her young com- 
panion was left to enjoy the novel situa- 
tion in silence — to watch the twilight 
deepen over this wide, white glittering 


26 


A First Flight 

world, and the night come on, lighting up 
the stars one by one, as Sister Seraphina 
lit the candles on the chapel altar, until 
the blue arch above sparkled and flashed 
with tender lights that made Marjorie’s 
eyes blink and wink, as, nestling down 
amid the furs and cushions, she looked 
up at them until they blurred and van- 
ished altogether ; while the curly head 
sank back in its comfortable resting-place, 
and the little traveller was off in the land 
of dreams. 

“Wake up, child! — wake up! Here 
we are at home! ” 

Marjorie started up at the novel word, 
to find lights flashing and dogs barking 
and voices calling around her, while a 
long, low, pillared house stretched dimly 
in the gloom. 

“ Take Dobbin and give him a good 
rub down, Jeb. And, Rex, — down, 
down, Rex ! ” 

Marjorie gave a wild cry of alarm as 


27 


A First Flight 

a big black dog came fairly bounding over 
her, with short, sharp barks of delight. 

“ Rex won’t hurt you, child. He is 
only glad to see us home. There, good 
old Rex! Down, down! ” 

And, still half asleep, Marjorie was 
guided by Miss Talbot into a low-roofed, 
cosy room, where a big wood fire was 
blazing on the brick hearth, and another 
Miss Talbot sat knitting by a shaded 
lamp. She was tall and thin like her 
sister, only her cheeks were paler and her 
eyes softer, and the gray hair was buckled 
on curls on her temples under a pretty 
lace cap. 

“ Thank Heaven you have come, 
Susan! ” she said. “ I was just going to 
send Jeb out to look for you. I thought 
you had upset on the road. ? ’ 

“ Upset on the road, at my time of 
life!” answered Miss Susan, unrolling 
herself from her big gray scarf. “ The 
drifts were heavy by the river, and I had 


28 


A First Flight 

to come around the upper road. Besides, 
1 was two hours at the Asylum getting the 
child. Here she is. Marjorie, this is my 
sister Martha. You are to wait on her 
and save her steps, and be as useful to 
her as you can.” 

“ I am glad to see you, Marjorie,” said 
Miss Martha, and her voice was kind and 
sweet. “We shall be very good friends, 
I am sure. Poor little thing ! you must be 
cold and sleepy after that long ride. Sit 
down by the fire while I get you and 
Susan a hot cup of tea.” 

And, oh, what a nice cup of tea it was ! 
— hot and sweet and milky, with two big 
slices of bread and butter beside it, on a 
blue and white plate, and a little glass 
saucer of blackberry jam. 

Then Miss Susan took Marjorie and 
her bundle upstairs to a queer little room, 
where the roof slanted down to a low 
broad dormer window that looked out on 
the trees and stars. 


29 


A First Flight 

“ Say your prayers, child, and get to 
bed as quick as you can; for you are tired, 
I know, and we are up betimes at Manor 
Hill.” 

And Marjorie said her prayers as well 
as her sleepy head would permit, and 
tumbled quickly into a little bed that, 
though soft and spotless as a snowdrift, 
smelt like spring flowers, and, with the 
stars still winking merrily at her through 
her dormer, was soon sound asleep for the 
night. 

“ Well, what do you think of the 
child? ” asked Miss Susan, as she rejoined 
her sister at the fireside. 

“ Pretty as a picture,” answered Miss 
Martha, warmly. 

“ And that’s all,” said Miss Susan. 

“ All! Bless me, what do you mean? ” 
asked her sister. 

“ That I’ve been a fool, I’m afraid — 
a stubborn old fool. The Sisters warned 
me the child was a heedless little thing 


30 


A First Flight 


that would be of no use to us ; but some- 
thing in her brown eyes turned my head. 
I’ve a mind to take her back to-morrow 
morning.” 

“Oh, no!” said Miss Martha, hastily. 
“ That would not be just to the poor child, 
Susan. Now that you have taken her, we 
must keep her for a while and give her a 
fair trial. But ” — Miss Martha laughed 
softly — “ it’s an odd thing for a pretty 
face to turn your head, Susan dear — 
very odd.” 

“ It is,” said Miss Susan. “ I don’t 
know what came over me, I am sure.” 

“ You saw Judge Rowe? ” asked Miss 
Martha, anxiously. 

“ Yes,” answered her sister; “ and got 
cold comfort from him. He says we can 
have another year to pay the mortgage, 
and then he must foreclose. It is plain he 
thinks we are two foolish old women to be 
holding on to a big, lonely place like this, 
with no kith or kin to leave it to after we 


A First Flight 


31 


are gone; and he feels we would be much 
more comfortable in rooms in town.” 

“ And maybe we would ” — Miss Susan 
took up the poker and stirred the fire vig- 
orously — “ maybe, we would.” There 
was a pause, while the big hickory backlog 
cracked and snapped, as if it did not like 
the poker’s meddling. 

“I — I didn’t think you would ever say 
that, Susan,” — Miss Martha’s voice was 
low and quavering. 

“ Nor I,” said Miss Susan,, with another 
dab at the old hickory, that sent a shower 
of angry sparks flying up the chimney. 
“But we may as well look things square 
in the face, Martha. We’ve sold every- 
thing we could — land and horses and 
carriages and stock. We have sent off all 
the servants but Jeb and Nance, who are 
too old and rheumatic to go. And we 
can’t lift the mortgage, or pay the inter- 
est even, work and stint as we will. Why 
are we keeping this old place, anyhow? ” 


32 


A First Flight 

“ Because we love it,’’ answered Miss 
Martha, tremulously; “because we love 
every foot of the ground; because it has 
been our dear, dear home, and our father’s 
and our grandfather’s for generations; 
because the Talbots have been born and 
reared and married and buried here for 
nearly two hundred years ; because it 
would break our old hearts, and kill us to 
give it up, and you know it, Susan,” con- 
cluded Miss Martha, bursting into open 
tears. 

“ There, there! — don’t cry, Martha! ” 
said Miss Susan, her own voice husky. 
“ Don’t break down like that, dear! Good 
Lord! haven’t I lain awake half the night 
for years planning and studying about 
this thing? It is you I am thinking about 
most of all. The work and worry and 
trouble here is too much for you. You are 
not as strong as you were, Martha dear.” 

“I know — I know; but I should die 
anywhere else, Susan. I — I couldn’t 


33 


A First Flight 

stand the uprooting, dear. I’ve grown 
here too long. And you’ve got me the 
little girl to save my steps. The little 
girl-” 

“ Humph! ” said Miss Susan. “ I am 
afraid we’ll only find her another trial. 
What I brought her here for against 
the Sisters’ warnings, I am sure I don’t 
know.” 

“ Because her eyes went to your heart 
— that soft old heart of yours that you 
try to case in leather. Susan, she may 
prove a bright little blessing to us, after 
all. 5 ’ 

“ She may,” answered Miss Susan, 
grimly; “ but I’ve strong doubts on the 
subject, Martha dear. There was another 
child — a quiet, steady one — that I ought 
to have chosen, I know. The Sisters told 
me as much.” 

“ And why didn’t you? ” asked her sis- 
ter in surprise. 

“ Because I was a fool, I tell you — 


34 


A First Flight 

a hard-headed fool. The other child 
squirmed and wheedled, and this one 
looked me square in the eyes and told me 
plainly she wouldn ? t suit; and yet I 
brought her, to be another care and trial 
when we have more than we can bear 
now” 

“ Oh, no! ” said her sister, gently. “ I 
feel God will help us, Susan dear — help 
us somehow. It has been my prayer for 
years that I might live and die in this my 
dear old home.” 

“ Then we’ll trust to Him,” said Miss 
Susan, heartily; and the old hickory 
seemed to echo her words as, with a cheery 
roar, it burst into flame that filled the 
whole room with ruddy light. “ We’ll 
trust to God and fight it out, in spite of 
Judge Rowe’s advice. And may God help 
us to save our home; for no else can, 
Martha dear! ” 


CHAPTER III 

AN ADVENTURE 

TV/T ARJORIE’S new life began be- 
^ A times next morning ; and a pleasant, 
busy life it was. There was the table to 
set with pretty flowered china and quaint 
old-fashioned silver; the dishes to wash, 
under Miss Martha’s careful teaching; 
the big mahogany table to polish ; the and- 
irons to rub until they winked back Mar- 
jorie’s own pretty face stretched into a 
funny grin. 

And when work was done there was 
time for play; for Miss Martha was no 
stern taskmistress. When the early din- 
ner was over, Marjorie bundled up head 
and ears in a red shawl, that Miss Susan 
gave her to save jacket and hat, and 
85 


36 


An Adventure 


turned out gleefully for a race with Rex 
over the white hills, just now frosted like 
a pound-cake with spotless snow. 

Then there were so many new acquaint- 
ances to make in this strange country 
world: old Jeb, grizzly and kind, in the 
stable; iAunt Nance, who was fat and 
shiny as if she had been upholstered in 
black leather, in the big kitchen; the 
horses, the cows, the hens, the awe-inspir- 
ing turkey gobbler, and the brand-new 
calf. 

For two whole weeks Marjorie had 
found all these so diverting that she had 
been the very model of a little maid in- 
doors. She had learned to skim the cream, 
to scour the milk-pans, to print the butter, 
to crimp a ruffle — under Miss Martha’s 
critical eye, and turn the heel of a stock- 
ing by Miss Susan’s nightly lessons. 

Still, after having had fifty little girls 
to play with ever since she could remem- 
ber, Manor Hill was somewhat lonely. 


An Adventure 


37 


with Rex as the only playmate. At night 
he dozed stupidly on the hearth rug, while 
Marjorie turned the heel of her stocking, 
and Miss Martha read aloud the “ Path- 
finder.” 

“ O Rex,” said Marjorie one afternoon, 
as, after a brisk race to the store a mile 
distant, the two friends paused to rest by 
a low stone- wall beside the road; “ I wish 
you could talk, Rex! ” 

Rex gave two short barks, and wagged 
his tail cheerfully. 

“I’m just dying to talk to somebody 
that can talk back. If you were only a 
girl or a boy, Rex, what fun we could 
have ! ” 

Rex barked again, and laid his nose on 
Marjorie’s knee apologetically. 

“ You’re the very nicest dog I ever 
knew,” said the little girl, stroking his 
head ; “ but you aren’t like a person, Rex. 
This is a lovely place, and it’s awful nice 
to have corn cakes and syrup for break- 


38 


2 in Adventure 


fast; and hot doughnuts, all cinnamony 
and sugary, for tea; and baked apples 
with cream on them. But I’m getting 
bad, I’m afraid, Rex. I felt like I’d just 
have to jump up and pull Miss Susan’s 
nose last night, if I sat still by the fire 
another minute. Goodness! I wonder 
what would have happened if I had done 
it! ” (Marjorie gave a funny little shiver.) 
“ It would have been as bad as when I 
pinned the paper chicken on Sister Ber- 
nardine’s veil. That kitty-cat of a Nellie 
Deane told on me. Dear! dear! I could 
stand even kitty-cat Nellie to talk to 
now.” 

Rex started up with pricked ears, as if 
he heard something. A boy was coming 
down the road — a big boy, with a fur 
cap set far back on a yellow curly head, 
and a merry, rosy face. He spied Rex, 
and whistled a clear, loud whistle, that 
made Rex bound forward, barking ex- 
citedly. Boy and dog met in a tussle so 


An Adventure 


39 


fierce, seemingly, that Marjorie leaped on 
the stone fence and shrieked in wild 
affright. 

“ Let my dog alone! ” she cried, as Rex 
was rolled over and over again in the 
snow, barking madly. “ You horrid boy! 
let my dog alone! ” 

■ r Your dog! ” exclaimed the newcomer, 
pausing to stare at the little red figure 
gesticulating on the fence. rr Your dog! 
I like that! As if I had not known Tal- 
bots’ Rex ever since I knew anything! 
Oh, I’m onto your game straight! 
You are one of the gypsies from the hol- 
low, and you are stealing Rex.” 

“ You great, big story-teller! ” gasped 
Marjorie, nearly breathless with honest 
indignation. 

“ Yes, you are! ” The merry blue eyes 
that met Marjorie’s were sternly judicial 
now. Master Bert Bolton came of a race 
that had worn “ wigs and gowns ” before 
the Stars and Stripes began to wave. 


40 


An Adventure 


“ And you’d better make tracks back to 
your camp before my father hears of you. 
He said the next one of you he caught 
Stealing — ” 

“ Stealing! ” panted Marjorie. “ I’m 
not stealing Rex. He is Miss Talbot’s 
dog, and I’m Miss Talbot’s girl.” 

“ Miss Talbot’s girl! ” echoed the other 
blankly. “ What kind of a girl? ” 

“ Her maid-girl,” explained Marjorie 
promptly. “ She took me out of St. Vin- 
cent’s Asylum to wait on her — ” 

“ Oh! ” said the boy, now comprehend- 
ing the situation. “ I did not know that, 
you see. I take a run up to Manor Hill 
pretty often, for Miss Martha is my god- 
mother. I am Bert Bolton, Judge Bol- 
ton’s boy. But I’ve been at Uncle Dick’s 
for the holidays and have just got back. 
That’s why Rex and I were so glad to 
see each other. We’ve been jolly chums 
always, haven’t we, old fellow? ” 

And Rex bounded up on Bert again, 


An Adventure 


41 


and the whole party walked amicably 
down the white, hard-packed road. 

“ What did you say your name was? ” 
asked Bert. 

“ I didn’t say anything,” laughed Mar- 
jorie. “ But if you want to know, it’s 
Marjorie Mayne.” 

“ I hope you won’t mind my rough 
talking? ” said Bert, apologetically. “ But, 
you see, you called Rex your dog, and I 
knew he was Miss Talbot’s. And, then, 
you do look a little like a gypsy in that 
red shawl — a pretty gypsy, you know.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t try to make it nice! ” 
said Marjorie. “ But I’m not mad any 
more. I know what you meant. And I 
certainly am glad that you come some- 
times to Manor Hill. I haven’t seen a boy 
or girl since I got there. Everybody is 
so old and so solemn ! ” added the little 
speaker, with a sigh. 

“ I never think of that. I suppose I’m 
used to it,” said Bert, laughing. 


42 


An Adventure 


“ I am not,” responded Marjorie, 
frankly. “ I’m used to fifty girls and 
having lots of fun: blind-man’s-buff, and 
4 open the gates,’ every night in the play- 
room ; and tag and 4 pussy wants a corner/ 
in the big back yard, and all sorts of 
games; and jack-straws, made of burned 
matches; and checkers, with buttons on 
Molly Byrne’s plaid shawl; and, then, 
best of all, to steal up to the wardrobe 
room and get Nora Ryan to tell fairy 
tales. I just love fairy tales, don’t you? ” 

44 1 think I like Indian stories better,” 
confessed Bert. 

44 Oh, no! ” said Marjorie, emphatically. 
44 1 hate Indian stories. Miss Martha 
reads them at night — about Indians and 
4 leather-stockings.’ I like to hear about 
fairies, and wands that change things, and 
princes that kill dragons, and enchanted 
castles, and all like that. Nora used to 
tell them fine, but I’ll not hear any more 
now.” 


An Adventure 


43 


“ Oh, yes! ” said Bert. “ You can read 
them yourself if you want to. I’ve got a 
great big fairy story-book that I will lend 
you.” 

“ Oh, will you? ” — the big brown eyes 
that turned upon Bert fairly danced with 
delight. “ I never had a fairy book to 
read in my life. What are those things 
hanging over your shoulder? ” 

“ Skates,” answered Bert, laughing. 
“Didn’t you ever see skates before?” 

“No,” said Marjorie, eagerly; “but 
I’ve heard of them. You go on them over 
the ice, don’t you? ” 

“Yes; and I am going on them now, 
down the Mill Creek,” said Bert, who was 
beginning to find in this outspoken little 
person lots of fun. “ Would you like to 
go along? ” 

“ Is it very far? ” asked Marjorie, 
doubtfully. 

“ Oh, no! ” said Bert, who had a coun- 
try boy’s liberal ideas of distance. “Just 


44 


An Adventure 


down the hill a bit. And I’ll lend you the 
skates and let you see what fun it is.” 

Lend her the skates! This was really 
more of a temptation than Marjorie could 
withstand. She would go indeed, let Bert 
lead where he would; for the frosty nip 
of the air was making her cheeks glow and 
her young veins tingle with joyous life. 
And she had been busy and quiet and 
good, with only solemn old folks, for, oh, 
so long! It seemed ages since she had had 
any fun or frolic, except with Rex; and 
here was a boy — a nice, jolly boy — of- 
fering her fairy books and skates — de- 
lights of which our poor little Marjorie 
had only heard and dreamed. 

She forgot that Miss Susan had told 
her to come back soon; that there was half 
a pound of tea and Miss Martha’s cough 
syrup in her apron pocket; that the milk 
was still to be strained, and the new calf 
fed, and two pairs of ruffled pillowcases 
“crimped” before night. 


An Adventure 


45 


She was “ heedless Marjorie ” again, 
and forgot everything as she skipped 
along to keep up with Bert’s big, boyish 
strides; while Rex pranced and leaped in 
wild delight at their heels; and the blue 
sky overhead was flecked with little white 
clouds, like lost lambs ; and the crisp snow 
crackled merrily beneath her feet; and 
even the solemn cedars, that should have 
known better, flashed and sparkled with 
icicles to lure her on her reckless way. 

And as they went on, Marjorie’s 
tongue, that had been tied so long for want 
of a “ person ” to talk with, rattled on 
confidingly; while Bert listened, half in 
wonder, half in big-hearted, boyish pity, 
to this poor little girl, who had never 
known father or mother, sister or brother, 
or even the still “ softer snaps ” of grand- 
mother and maiden aunt ; this poor, pretty 
little girl, who had never had a pony or a 
dog, or even a story-book of her own ; who 
had come down here among strangers to 


46 An Adventure 

work and wash and knit like a little old 
woman ! 

“ Gee- whiz! I’ll give her one jolly, fine 
evening, if she never has another!” re- 
solved Bert generously, as they came in 
sight of the creek curving blue and deep 
in the heart of the hills. 

“ Here we are!” he said gleefully, as 
the whole party scrambled down the 
snowy bank. “ Sit down on that log now, 
and I’ll strap the skates on.” 

“Oh, no!” replied Marjorie, hastily. 
“You put them on first and show me how 
they go.” 

And, nothing loath — for he was really 
giving up his own evening’s sport for 
Marjorie — Bert buckled on his skates 
and was soon flying down the creek, like 
the old heathen god who was supposed to 
have wings on his heels instead of on his 
shoulders. Marjorie meanwhile stood on 
the bank, breathless with delight and ad- 
miration. 


An Adventure 


47 


“ Now,” said Bert, as he came sweep- 
ing to the shore in a grand final curve on 
one leg, “ you try it, Marjorie.” 

“ Oh, it’s fine, it’s fine! ” she cried, rap- 
turously. “ But I never could go like you, 
I know.” 

“ Yes, you could,” he said assuringly, 
as he buckled the skates on her rough 
little shoes. “ I’ll hold your hand at first. 
You’ll soon get used to them.” 

And he guided his pupil carefully out 
on the ice. For a moment she staggered 
and swayed, then took a timorous slide 
forward, and nearly came down on her 
head. 

“Hold up! Don’t be afraid! I’ve 
got you,” said her instructor, cheerily. 
“ Everybody goes sprawling like this at 
first. You’ll steady up in a minute. 
There, now: that’s better. You’re learn- 
ing fine. Take it long and easy, one foot 
at a time. Don’t be scared: I won’t let 
you fall.” 


48 


An Adventure 


It was like a bird trying to fly, but Mar- 
jorie’s heart was in the flight. Stagger- 
ing, stumbling, swaying, she kept on, 
until suddenly she seemed to find her bal- 
ance. The sharp steels cut steadily into 
the ice beneath her feet. Marjorie could 
skate ! 

“ Oh, I can go ! I can go ! ” she cried, 
delightedly. “ Let me tiy it all alone.” 

“ Whoop ! ” shouted Bert triumphantly, 
as, like an arrow from the bow, his pupil 
swept down the glassy creek, her red shawl 
flying behind like a pirate’s pennant, her 
red-brown curls blowing in the breeze. 
“You’re a ‘Jim Dandy!’ Keep it up, 
keep it up ! ” 

There was no need of the bidding: Mar- 
jorie was keeping it up only too well. 
Down the blue curve of the creek she 
skimmed like a bird that had found its 
wings. Oh, the wild joy of that swift 
flight through the icy air, the white hills 
and glittering trees flashing back the sun- 


An Adventure 


49 


light, as she swept on and on — dizzy with 
delight — she knew not where! 

“You’ve gone far enough now!” 
shouted Bert. “ Come back, come back! ” 
But the cry was unheeded. Marjorie 
either could not or would not hear. 
Round the white curve of the hills flut- 
tered the “ pirate’s pennant ” ; and then 
the situation flashed upon Marjorie’s 
guide and teacher. 

“ Gee-whil-a-kins! ” cried the boy. 
“ She is heading straight for the mill-dam 
and can’t turn around! ” 

To “ turn around ” was a part of her 
skating lesson Marjorie had not learned. 
Like many an older pupil in life’s slip- 
pery ways, she knew only how to keep it 
up. Her teacher’s warning shout came 
to her like a note of triumphant cheer as 
she sped on her glittering, rapturous 
course, until suddenly with an awful 
crash the whole world seemed to give way, 
and she was down, down, struggling in 


50 


An Adventure 


black, ice-cold depths, the roar of angry 
waters in her bewildered ears, and heaven 
and earth blotted from her sight. 


CHAPTER IV 

IN THE HUNTER'S SHACK 

PT^HERE was one black, awful moment, 
A when poor Marjorie, choking and 
gasping, tried to murmur a little prayer 
for help ; and then — all was blank silence 
and darkness to her. 

“ Get her, Rex — get her quick, old boy 
• — quick!” came the wild shout from 
afar. 

And then there was a mad splash and 
scurry in the broken ice; the unconscious 
Marjorie was caught up in strong white 
teeth; and Rex, whose four legs had nat- 
urally outstripped Bert’s two, dragged the 
little girl to the shore, just as her teacher, 
in dismay at the result of his skating les- 
son, came dashing up, white and breath- 
51 


52 In the Hunter's Shack 

less, with old Lem Stokes, whom the boy’s 
cries had brought hurrying down from his 
rabbit traps on the hill. 

“ Consarn you young ijots! ” said old 
Lem savagely, as he lifted Marjorie 
gently in his strong arms and poured liq- 
uor from his leather flask down her throat. 
“ Don’t you know the ice round the dam 
is rotten as burned paper? You ought to 
be thrashed for this, Bert Bolton; and I’d 
like the job of doing it. I seen you set- 
ting this little creetur off on your skates 
up the creek.” 

“ I was just trying to give her a little 
fun. I didn’t mean her to go so far,” said 
Bert, remorsefully. “ Oh, she isn’t dead 
— is she, Lem? ” 

“ ’Tain’t your fault that she isn’t,” 
growled the old man. “ If it hadn’t been 
for that there dog — but a good dog is 
worth half a dozen boys most any time, to 
my notion — if it hadn’t been for that dog, 
she’d been dead as Moses before you or 


In the Hunter's Shack 53 

me could ha’ got her out of that ice. There 
she is coming to now! ” — as Marjorie 
choked and spluttered over a second dose 
of the fiery draught. “ But she’ll freeze 
to death here, in these wet clothes. 
What’s to be done with her now? v 

“Oh, I don’t know!” answered Bert, 
who, in spite of the six generations of an- 
cestors who had made and dispensed laws, 
was quite unequal to this trying occasion. 
“ She lives with the Talbots at Manor 
Hill.” 

“ Five good miles from here, if it’s a 
foot,” said Lem; “ and the air getting icier 
every minute ; and the mill-house shut and 
nailed up for the winter. Ain’t nothing 
to do, as I see, but carry her up to that old 
shack of mine on the hill, and thaw her 
out.” 

“ Oh, if you would, Lem! ” said Bert, 
quite subdued by the responsibilities of 
the situation. 

And so it happened that when Marjorie 


54 In the Hunter's Shack 

fully awoke from the sleep that had come 
very near being her last, she found herself 
steaming away like a little Christmas pud- 
ding, in a soft nest of skins and blankets, 
in the very queerest house she had ever 
seen. It went up in a peak against the 
rock that formed one of its four walls, and 
in which a big chimney-place had been 
hollowed out. A wood fire was burning 
cheerily therein; two or three dogs were 
stretched out, dozing comfortably in the 
ruddy light; and hanging all around were 
deerskins and antlers and guns and pow- 
der-horns ; while directly over her couch a 
big, black, furry head looked down with 
awful eyes. And in the midst of all stood 
a long, brown, grizzly-bearded man, stir- 
ring something in an iron pot over the fire 
— something that, despite its grim sur- 
roundings, smelt very hot and nice. 

For a moment Marjorie stared around 
her in speechless bewilderment. Where 
was she? What had happened? Was she 


In the Hunter's Shack 55 

lost or stolen — or — or — enchanted ? 
Could this big brown man be an ogre? 
Chilling doubt assailed Marjorie’s early 
teaching, in spite of Sister Mary Ann’s 
instructions. Were Nora’s fairy tales 
true, after all? 

Marjorie came very near crying out in 
her terror, when she heard a friendly snif- 
fle near by, and there was Rex — dear old 
Rex, who could not be enchanted too — ■ 
snugged up beside her, licking her hand. 

“ Hallo! ” The big brown man looked 
up from his pot in rather a friendly way. 
“ Woke up at last, hev you? Feel pretty 
warm and comfortable? ” 

“ Ye — yes, sir,” answered Marjorie, 
tremulously. 

“ Wal, stay there and take it easy. No 
use in kicking gin your quarters, though 
they might be better. You’re the first 
little girl was ever caught here, you see.” 

The first little girl ever caught! Mar- 
jorie’s heart gave a wild leap of terror. 


56 In the Hunter's Shack 

Only the friendly rub of Rex’s cold nose 
against her hand kept her from screaming 
outright. 

“ You had a shave of it,” her host con- 
tinued — “a purty close shave. If it 
hadn’t been for that dog there, I guess 
you’d be playing the harp in ‘ kingdom 
come ’ now.” 

Marjorie stared at the speaker uncom- 
prehendingly. “ Playing the harp in 
4 kingdom come ’ ” had no meaning to her 
little Catholic ears. But she was wide 
awake now, and beginning to remember 
— the crash, the fall, the black, icy, roar- 
ing waters. 

“ Did Rex pull me out? ” she asked, 
with a reminiscent shiver. 

“ He did that,” was the answer. “ Was 
down the bank, and had you out of that 
ice before any human could get nigh to 
you. For real down hard sense, give me 
a dog before a human every time — ’spe- 
cially a collie dog. I knew one up at 


In the Hunter's Shack 57 

Colonel Lowe’s stock farm at Belair that 
could count good as a school-teacher. 
They’d set him to watch a flock of twenty 
sheep, and you’d see him prick up his ears 
and look them over. ‘ Eighteen, nineteen,’ 
he’d sort of say to himself, and then stop 
to think. ‘ One is missing,’ he’d bark, ‘ and 
I’ll have to look him up.’ And look he 
would, running and nosing and barking 
around till he found some little fool of a 
lamb caught by the wool in a briar bush.” 

The speaker paused, dipped up a big 
spoonful of the mixture he was stirring, 
and tasted it critically. 

“ There now, I guess that’s ’bout done. 
Would you like to hev some? ” 

“What is it?” asked Marjorie, who, 
though reassured by her companion’s 
friendly talk, still regarded the iron pot 
doubtfully. 

“Most everything,” he laughed: “a 
bird and a hare, a bunch of yarbs, a bit of 
onion. Try it,” he added, ladling out a 


58 In the Hunter’s Shack 

generous supply into a brown earthen 
bowl. “ It’s so baking hot by this fire you 
might as well get up. Your clothes will 
dry better.” 

And Marjorie, still feeling queer and 
light-headed, staggered up and over to 
the little wooden stool the old man pulled 
to the fire for her. 

“ Sort of shaky yet, ain’t you? ” he said, 
kindly. “ You won’t be any worse for a 
bite of supper.” 

And he pushed out another stool for a 
table, on which he put the steaming bowl, 
and gave her a battered tin spoon: Mar- 
jorie, who felt very weak and hungry, 
tasted the compound before her hesita- 
tingly. But one spoonful settled the mat- 
ter. Faint and shaken as she was, it 
seemed the best thing she had ever tasted 
— better even than Susan’s doughnuts. 

“ How is it? ” asked old Lem, as the 
trembling little hand plied the spoon 
eagerly. 


In the Hunter's Shack 59 

“ Fine! ” said Marjorie. 

“ Take some more: it won’t hurt you. 
And I’ve got some crackers and cheese, 
and peach-butter that old Miss Dawson 
puts up for me every year. Pile ’em all 
in ; they won’t hurt you.” 

And, setting forth the various articles 
as he named them, the old man seated 
himself in a three-legged chair and sur- 
veyed his guest’s efforts to “ pile ’em in ” 
with great satisfaction. 

“Been up to Manor Hill long?” he 
asked, when Marjorie had gradually 
worked down to Miss Dawson’s peach- 
butter, spread thick on the crackers. 

“ Only two weeks,” replied Marjorie. 
“ And, oh, what will they think of my 
staying away like this? ” 

“ Don’t you fret ’bout that. I saw that 
Bert Bolton made tracks back there right 
off to tell ’em all about it. They took 
you out of the asylum, I hear. Hevn’t 
got father or mother or any kinfolks? ” 


60 In the Hunter's Shack 

“ No,” answered Marjorie — “ no one 
that I can remember.” 

“Cur’us!” said old Lem under his 
breath. “ Such a purty little creetur to be 
set all adrift! But you sartinly hev got 
into the right place,” he added, nodding 
cheerily. “ If there was ever two angels 
walked the earth in bonnets and shawls, 
it’s them Miss Talbots. Laws, when I 
think how them two blessed weemen 
nursed me through the rheumatiz last 
winter — rubbing and dosing and feeding 
me as if I was their born brother! Wanted 
me to come up to Manor Hill and live for 
the bad weather. Miss Susan spoke her 
mind plain and said this was no sort of a 
place for a Christian.” 

“ It must be — lonesome,” said Mar- 
jorie, sympathetically. 

“ Lonesome! ” echoed old Lem. “ Wal, 
I suppose it is; but I’m used to it — used 
to be alone with only dogs and wild cree- 
turs. I ain’t no sort of company for folks. 


In the Hunter's Shack 61 

specially ladified folks like the Miss Tal- 
bots. It would make their hair lift to hear 
the way I light out on these dogs when 
they get to snarling and fighting over 
their bones.” 

“ And have you lived here always, just 
with dogs? ” asked the little girl, wonder- 
ingly. 

“ No,” answered old Lem, filling a 
long pipe he took from a shelf over the 
fire. 4 4 1 tried humans for a while, but 
I like dogs better.” 

44 Oh, but I don’t think that is right ! ” 
said Marjorie quickly. 

44 Why not? ” asked the old man, with 
a twinkle in his sunken eye. 

44 Oh, because — because — they are 
dogs,” said his little guest, hesitatingly; 
44 because they can’t talk or think, or go 
to heaven when they die. Oh, I know — 
I am sure — it isn’t right to like dogs 
best!” 

44 Mebbe it isn’t,” said Lem, laughing. 


62 In the Hunter's Shack 

“ But if you want a friend that will stand 
by you through thick and thin, and not 
look for pay, give me a dog every time. 
There was my Buck — you see that big 
black head hanging up there? ” 

“ Yes,” said the little girl, casting a 
half- frightened look at the object in ques- 
tion. “ Was that Buck? ” 

“That!” Marjorie’s host chuckled 
deep down in his knotted throat. “ No, 
sissy; that was the black bear that Buck 
done for. Mebbe you never heered tell 
of a bear? ” 

“Oh, yes!” said Marjorie, her eyes 
beginning to kindle, for black bears 
gifted with remarkable wisdom and con- 
versational powers had often figured in 
Nora’s fairy tales. “ And I saw them, 
too, in a cage at the Zoo.” 

“ Yes, I’ve heered they was there,” said 
the old man; “ but I never would go look 
at them. It’s a mean, low-down sort of 
business to trap a wild creetur and shut 


In the Hunter's Shack 63 

it up in a cage for boys to poke fun at. 
Bears hev their feelings as well as hu- 
mans ; and it must go mighty gin the grain 
for a strong, free creetur, that has had 
a hull mountain range for his own, to be 
shut up behind iron bars and expected 
to munch peanuts and make himself agree- 
able. Heap better die in a fair fight, like 
that big chap there.” 

“Did you kill him?” asked Marjorie. 

“ Wal, no,” answered the old man. 
“ The boot was rather on the other foot: 
the black bear came purty nigh killing 
me.” 

“Oh, tell me about it, please!” said 
the little guest, who, between the soup and 
the warmth and the friendly chat of her 
host, was beginning to find her novel sit- 
uation very interesting. 

“ Wal, ’twas ’bout a dozen years ago,” 
said Lem, taking out his pipe and prepar- 
ing to spin a real “hunter’s yarn” for her 
entertainment. “ I was off on a winter 


64 


In the Hunter's Shack 


tramp across the mountains ’bout fifty 
miles away — me and Buck. I took Buck 
everywhere, for safe-keeping; for there 
wasn’t such another dog this side of the 
Rockies. Held his head high like a king; 
long and lean and straight-limbed, as if 
he were cut out to order; voice clear and 
deep as a bell on a frosty night; and a 
nose — there was nothing ever made 
keener than that dog’s nose! Blamed, if 
he couldn’t follow a trail with the snow 
two feet deep on it! 

“ Wal, Buck and me had been out 
tramping and camping for ’bout two 
months, peacefuler than any human 
pardners; eating and sleeping and purty 
nigh talking together; for when we’d 
stretch out at night before our camp fire, 
and he’d lay his nose on my knee and lick 
my hand, it meant more than lots of the 
tongue-twisting that goes for speech. He 
was all the company I asked, until one of 
them consarned norwestern blizzards 


In the Hunter's Shack 65 

struck us, and we had to make for the 
nearest road-house to save our lives. It 
was a mean, or’nary sort of place; and 
there was a mean, or’nary crowd there, 
druv in, as we was, by the storm. But it 
was mighty warm and comfortable, with 
that blizzard raging outside; and we all 
eat and drank and made ourselves pleas- 
ant together as we could. And I got to 
playing cards and drinking with the rest; 
and, whether it was drinking or drugging 
I never knew, but I went to sleep for the 
night, and woke to find my pack of furs 
gone, and my purse of money gone, 
and, worse than all, my dog gone, too.” 


CHAPTER V 

A BEAR STORY 

“TAID they steal your dog, sir? ” asked 
Marjorie, breathlessly. 

“ Aye, they stole him,” replied old Lem, 
fuming fiercely at the remembrance; 
“ though the folks at the road-house said 
I bet him on cards — bet him with my 
furs, money, and everything else, when 
the rascals had muddled me. ‘ Bet 
Buck! ’ I said, ragin’ mad. ‘ I’d as soon 
bet my brother. Where’s the thief that 
got him from me? ’ — ‘ He is gone,’ some 
one answered, — ‘ gone off in his sled an 
hour ago — before you woke up. Said 
he’d been lookin’ for just that kind of 
dog for years. He had to tie him head 
and legs to get him off.’ ” 

66 


67 


A Bear Story 

“Oh!” cried Marjorie, listening with 
flushed face and tightly clasped hands. 
“ Wasn’t that dreadful? ” 

“ Dreadful wasn’t no name for it. I 
tell you, the way I talked around that 
road-house then, ain’t for no little girl to 
hear. I swore I’d catch up with that there 
dog-thief if I had to foller him to a place 
’tain’t good or perlite to mention. They 
tried to keep me back, tellin’ me I’d get 
lost and frozen in the snow; but iron 
chains wouldn’t hev held me, much less 
lyin’ tongues. So I started off on that 
thief’s track, hot with rage that couldn’t 
feel wind or storm. And, laws, what a 
storm it was! Only a madman, like I 
was just then, would hev put foot out in 
it. I had no money to pay for horse or 
sled, so I just had to make tracks as best 
I could to the nearest station; for I 
thought the trains was naturally held up 
by the snow, and I could catch my man 
waitin’ there for them to come along. 


68 


A Bear Story 


“ I tried to keep the road, but soon 
found there wasn’t no road to keep. Wind 
shriekin’ like a thousand devils; while 
drifts scurryin’ before it like as if hull 
graveyards had let loose their ghosts; 
fences, trees, houses, everything lost in 
a blank, wild sort of cloud. And Buck 
gone — that was worst of all ! No steady 
feet patterin’ beside me; no friendly bark 
to hearten me on my way; no keen nose 
to lead me straight even through a white 
whirl like this. Buck gone! I kept on 
and on, Lord only knows where; for, old 
hunter that I was, between the piled-up 
snow and the scurryin’ drifts, I got as 
clean dazed as any tenderfoot on his first 
trail. 

“ I tramped on, circlin’ and twistin’, 
until I found myself lookin’ down on a 
ridge where Buck and me had camped a 
couple of days before. I knew where I 
was now — knew there was a sort of cave 
under the rocks below me, where Buck 


69 


A Bear Story 

and me had made a cache and left our bis- 
cuit and bacon until we got back after the 
storm. I was purty nigh done out; so 
I tried to scramble down for a little shel- 
ter and rest, when I made a false step in 
the drifts. I went down, with a twist in 
my ankle that made me nigh dizzy with 
pain. Wal, there was my old camp place 
before me, snug and warm enough ; there 
was our cache, uncovered and scattered; 
and there, too, lickin’ his bps over our 
bacon, was the biggest and the blackest 
and the fiercest old mountain bear ’twas 
ever my luck to see — ” 

“ Oh,” gasped Marjorie, “ don’t say he 
killed you, please! ” 

“ Wal, no,” chuckled old Lem, with a 
softened look at the pretty little face up- 
turned to him in such breathless interest. 
“ I rather think somebody else would hev 
to tell you that. But ’twasn’t the bear’s 
fault that my story didn’t end then and 
there. He was savage with hunger and 


70 A Bear Story 

thirst, and everything that makes a bear’s 
temper rise; and here was I just droppin’ 
in to meddle when he had found a bite. 
He turned on me with a growl that I can 
hear sometimes in my dreams now. And 
there I was, with rocks and snowdrifts 
stretchin’ above and below me; not a leg 
to stand on, for my ankle wouldn’t let 
me rise to my feet; and my rifle left at 
that road-house six miles away. I hadn’t 
a ghost of a chance, I knew ; but I pulled 
out my knife to make a last fight for it, 
when I heered a sound that made me think 
I was dreamin’ death-dreams. Then in a 
minute something came leapin’ and 
barkin’ down the ridge — ” 

“Buck! Buck! Oh, I know it was 
Buck! ” cried Marjorie, clapping her 
hands delightedly. 

“ Aye, it was Buck,” said the old man, 
his sunken eyes shining — “ Buck, that 
had torn himself loose from that there 
dog-thief and struck my trail, spite of 


71 


A Bear Story 

storm and snow; Buck, fairly boilin’ at 
the way he had been put upon, and ready 
to take it out on the first thing that come 
his way. And he got it then and there.” 
The old man put his hands on his knees 
and shook with delighted remembrance. 
“ Laws, what a fight it was ! Buck with 
his fangs on that bear’s throat, and the 
two rollin’ and snarlin’ and tearin’ at each 
other, till I managed to stagger up some- 
how and end it with my hunter’s knife. 
Then I took that there bleedin’ dog in 
my arms, and cried over him like a 
woman.” 

“ But — but he didn’t die? ” asked 
Marjorie, with a suspicious quaver in her 
voice that told she was very near crying 
too. 

“ Buck die? Land, no! ” laughed Lem. 
“ There he is, stretched right before you 
now. Buck, old chap! Buck!” 

The hound pricked up his ears even 
in his dreams at his master’s voice. 


72 


A Bear Story 

“ There! there! We won’t disturb him. 
He don’t do much but sleep now. His 
teeth are gone, his nose is gone, and he 
ain’t good for nothing but dozin’ before 
the fire. But we’re stickin’ it out together ; 
ain’t we, pardner?” — as the dog rose 
stiffly, and, wagging his tail, laid his head 
on the speaker’s knee. “ This old shack 
ain’t no sort of place for Christians, as 
Miss Susan said; but it’s good enough for 
Buck and me.” 

And Buck, for answer, licked his mas- 
ter’s hand trustfully. 

“ But you didn’t tell how you got down 
the mountain,” commented the little girl, 
as Lem continued to stroke and rub the 
head upon his knee. 

“ Oh, that was easy enough — wasn’t 
it, Buck? We stayed there till next 
mornin’, when the storm stopped; and I 
cut a stick and limped on to a farm-house 
not far away. And when the men heerd 
that bear was done for, they weren’t sorry, 


73 


A Bear Story 

you may be sure. They skinned him, and 
gave me the head, all stuffed and mounted 
as you see — hallo! what’s that?” 

The old man started up as a sharp 
knock sounded on the cabin door, and 
Miss Susan Talbot burst in with scant 
ceremony. 

“Marjorie! Where is the child? I’ve 
brought dry clothes and hot bricks and a 
bottle of red-pepper tea, for she must be 
chilled to death. Eh, God bless me!” 
The good lady started back at the sight of 
the little figure standing rosy and happy 
in the firelight. 

“ Oh, no, I’m not , Miss Susan! I’m 
not hurt a bit,” said Marjorie, eagerly. 
“ I’m so — so sorry I troubled you, 
but — ” 

“ If there’s any blamin’ to be done, that 
there Bert Bolton ought to be man 
enough to take the hull of it,” interposed 
old Lem quickly. 

“ I’m not blaming anybody,” said Miss 


74 


A Bear Story 

Susan, bluntly. “ Thank the Lord the 
child is alive and well! You get outside 
there and look after Dobbin, Lem, while 
I put some dry clothes on her to take her 
home.” 

And, thoroughly warm and dry and 
comfortable, Marjorie, with Rex cuddled 
at her feet, was soon snugged up under 
the buffalo robes of the old sleigh, and 
speeding back to her own little white nest 
at home. 

But the two friends she had made by 
her misadventure were not lost to her. 
Bert, who had a big, beautiful home about 
three miles away, and father and mother 
and sisters, to say nothing of a delightful 
gray pony — “ J ack ” — all his own, 
often broke away from all these attrac- 
tions to find his way to Manor Hill. He 
brought the fairy books he had promised 
— two big ones, somewhat dog-eared, but 
full of beautiful pictures; he brought real 
checkers instead of buttons, and a pretty 


75 


A Bear Story 

red board that was a decided improve- 
ment on Molly Byrne’s plaid shawl; be- 
sides other delightful games rummaged 
from the old nursery closet at home. 

And one day he rode over on his gray 
pony with a mysterious bundle carefully 
tied on his saddle-bow. 

“ I don’t know whether you will like it 
or not. Maybe you are too big,” he said, 
as he presented it to Marjorie on the 
kitchen porch. 

“ Oh, it’s a doll! ” cried the girl, raptur- 
ously, as she quickly tore off the wrap- 
pings — “ a beautiful, beautiful doll ! Oh, 
look at her lovely blue eyes and her real 
curls and her dear little pink boots ! Oh, 
I never had a doll in all my life! ” 

“ Well, you’ve got one now,” replied 
Bert, with great satisfaction. 

“You don’t mean she is mine — mine 
to keep?” said Marjorie, breathlessly. 
“ I thought you were taking her home to 
your sister.” 


76 


A Bear Story 


“Not a bit of it: she is yours now. 
Ethel got too big for her three years ago, 
and she has been laid away in the nursery 
closet ever since. Mother said she would 
be glad to get her out of the way. I don’t 
see much fun in dolls myself, but I 
thought maybe you would like her.” 

“ Like her! ” exclaimed Marjorie, with 
a delighted hug of her new treasure. “ I’ll 
love her! Has she a name? ” 

“ I believe Ethel used to call her Rosa- 
belle,” said Bert laughing. 

“ Rosabelle ! What a darling name ! ” 
said Marjorie. “ Oh, I’ll love her, and 
keep her forever and forever! It was so 
good of you to bring her to me! ” 

And Rosabelle, seated in a cozy corner 
of Marjorie’s room, became the little 
girl’s cheering companion by day and 
night. 

Nor was Bert the only friend Marjorie 
had made by her tumble into the ice-cold 
creek. Old Lem never forgot the bright- 


77 


A Bear Story 

eyed little guest who had cheered his 
lonely fireside; and, as the gray wintry 
days wore on, he often stalked across the 
fields, his dogs at his heels, to spend an 
hour or two at Manor Hill. There was 
always something for Marjorie in the 
hunter’s pouch slung across his shoulder: 
a pair of red mittens bought at the 
“ store,” a gay bead bag traded for with 
an Indian squaw in his last year’s tramp- 
ing through the Canadian forests, a pretty 
box made of birch bark, or a basket whit- 
tled from a walnut shell. And as the old 
man strode away in the gloaming, Mar- 
jorie always tripped as far as the meadow 
gate, holding his homy hand. 

“ Ladies don’t seem Ghipper as usual,” 
remarked Lem, thoughtfully, on one of 
these occasions. “ Miss Martha ain’t so 
well, mebbe? ” 

“ I’m afraid she isn’t,” said Marjorie. 
“ She cries all to herself at night. I find 
a wet handkerchief rolled in a ball under 


78 


A Bear Story 


her pillow. And Miss Susan hides the 
letters I bring from the post office, and 
won’t let Miss Martha see them. And, 
then, we are making novenas all the time.” 

“ What’s novenas? ” asked the old man, 
gruffly. 

“ Oh, don’t you know? ” said Marjorie. 
“ Novenas are prayers that you say for 
nine days when you want anything very, 
very badly. We always made novenas at 
St. Vincent’s when we didn’t have shoes or 
coal.” 

“You did?” said old Lem, staring. 
“ And then did you get them? ” 

“ Always,” answered the little girl, pos- 
itively. “ Mrs. Grosvenor sent up the 
shoemaker, or somebody sent a lot of coal, 
sure.” 

“ And is Miss Susan prayin’ for shoes 
and coal, you reckon? ” 

“Oh no!” replied Marjorie. “Miss 
Martha always puts in the intention. It 
is to — 4 save our dear home.’ ” 


79 


A Bear Story 

“ Save their home! ” exclaimed the old 
man, in a startled tone. “ From what? ” 

“ From tumbling down, I guess,” said 
Marjorie, seriously. “ The kitchen chim- 
ney is very shaky, and the porch roof all 
fallen in. And Miss Susan has no money 
to have it mended. But we trade butter 
and eggs at the store, and get everything 
we want,” concluded Marjorie blithely, 
as they reached the meadow gate. 

“Everything they want!” murmured 
the old man to himself grimly, as, after 
bidding his little companion good-by, he 
stalked away over the hills. “ That 
blessed little sparrow is so used to chirpin’ 
over crumbs that she don’t know trouble 
when she sees it. And it’s cornin’, if I 
can read signs right. There’s trouble 
cornin’ that I’m afeerd prayin’ won’t hold 
back from them good weemen at Manor 

Hill” 


CHAPTER VI 


HILLCREST 

rpHE fierce grip of Jack Frost had 
loosened, and the snows had melted 
from Manor Hill. Already there was a 
faint touch of green in the meadows; the 
creek had broken from its icy fetters, and 
was foaming merrily down to the dam. 
And more than once Marjorie had dis- 
covered a little brown bird perched with- 
out her window, surveying the apple 
boughs below with an evident eye to early 
house-building. Everywhere there was 
the stir and flutter of awakening things — 
bird and tree and plant and stream — as 
if old Mother Nature had flung off her 
white blanket for good, and roused herself 
from her winter nap. 


Hillcrest 


81 


Something of the joyous thrill of the 
coming spring was felt even in the quiet 
old manor, where there was a pleasant hum 
of preparation. The great parlor, unused 
through all the winter, had been opened; 
the floors had been waxed, the furniture 
polished, the big silver candlesticks rubbed 
until they shone like new. 

Father James was coming to say the 
annual Mass at Manor Hill, as the priests 
from Sandy Point had come for years too 
long to reckon; for “Talbots’,” being 
fully fifteen miles from the nearest 
church, had been thus honored for gener- 
ations. Not for the price of a new cathe- 
dral would good Father James slight 
these two old ladies, last of their loyal 
line. 

So once more the big parlor was to be 
transformed into a chapel, the piano made 
into an altar, and all that was richest and 
most beautiful in this old Catholic home 
brought out to honor the greatest of 


82 


Hillcrest 


guests. And, as always in the past, there 
was to be breakfast served afterward to 
all, old and young, rich and poor, white 
or black, who should come fasting to the 
Mass. 

“ I don’t see how we can manage it this 
year,” Miss Susan had said, doubtfully. 

“We must, Susan dear, — we must, if 
we starve for weeks afterward,” Miss 
Martha had answered, with a faint flush 
on her pale, thin cheek. “ Let us do every- 
thing as usual — everything as it has been 
done for more than a hundred years. It 
may be for the last time, I know,” — and 
the gentle voice trembled ; “ but let us 
have all things as they were in our 
mother’s time, in our grandmother’s — in 
all the dear, blessed past.” 

So Miss Susan had baked and boiled in 
the kitchen until the pantry shelves fairly 
brimmed over with good things — home- 
cured hams and home-raised chickens and 
homemade sausage; loaves of white bread 


Hillcrest 


83 


and brown bread and gingerbread, dough- 
nuts and cookies and apple pies. 

Miss Martha in the meanwhile had laid 
aside all other work, and busied herself 
with more beautiful preparations; and 
Marjorie Mayne, tiptoe with delight and 
excitement, had been her eager little hand- 
maid. Only Marjorie had seen the tears 
dropping from the dim eyes as Miss 
Martha unlocked the big chest in the attic, 
and drew out the yellow lace and linen 
and hand-embroidered vestments, and the 
chalice that had been pressed to the lips 
of a martyred Talbot in a far-off past. 

“ For the last Mass ! ” the trembling 
lips whispered again and again, and only 
wondering little Marjorie caught the 
sounds — “ the last Mass at Manor Hill ! 
I wish we had some flowers, Marjorie,” 
Miss Martha spoke aloud to her little 
helper. “ My mother always had rows of 
lilies in bloom. But all my house plants 
were touched by the frost. And now, 


84 


Hillcrest 


dear, you must take these notes to our 
neighbors — the Croftons, Hills, and 
Lacys. You know the three houses 
straight down the road. Say that we shall 
have Mass at Manor Hill on Sunday, and 
we hope all will come as usual. Keep to 
the open road, child ; and don’t loiter, for 
you must be home before dark.” 

And, donning hat, jacket, and red mit- 
tens, Marjorie started out, blithely calling 
to her playmate as she went : “ Rex, 
Rex!” 

“ Rex dun gone, little Missy,” said old 
Jeb, shuffling out from the barn where he 
was mending a broken plough. “ Marse 
Bert cum ’long ’bout an hour ago and 
whistled him for a race to the mill.” 

And Marjorie was forced to take her 
trip alone down the road that wound past 
the old homes whose owners had been 
neighbors and friends of the Talbots for 
more than a hundred years. Everyone 
had a kind word for the little messenger. 


Hillcrest 


85 


Old Mrs. Lacy brought her into the 
kitchen, where she was baking cookies, 
and filled her hands and pockets with the 
crisp hot cakes that only grandmothers 
can make; while Miss Betty Crofton 
brought out gingerbread and milk, as she 
plied the little visitor with anxious ques- 
tions about Manor Hill; for bad weather 
and bad roads had kept these lifetime 
friends apart all winter. 

“ Oh, it’s going to be beautiful,” said 
Marjorie — “almost like a real church! 
And Miss Martha is going to play on the 
little organ, just like Sister Seraphina 
does at St. Vincent’s. And she wants 
everybody to come, because it may be the 
last Mass at Manor Hill.” 

“ I am afraid it will,” said Miss Betty, 
shaking her head sadly. “ They can’t 
keep up much longer with that old skin- 
flint Asa Greene holding the mortgage, 
and Judge Rowe urging them to give up, 
and Martha in poor health as she is. Well, 


86 


Hillcrest 


we will all come, child, — of course we’ll 
come and see the last of it,” concluded 
Miss Betty, with a cheerful sigh. 

So Marjorie kept on her way wisely 
and well, as a little maid should, until she 
reached Hillcrest, where only Eveleen 
was at home, her mamma and sisters being 
off on a visit to grandmamma. Eveleen 
was just Marjorie’s age, and for more 
than a fortnight had been shut up with 
a severe cold from all outdoor amuse- 
ments. 

With the bright sunbeams frolicking in 
the lawn, and the birds chirping in the box 
hedges of the garden, the strain was really 
becoming too much for Eveleen. She had 
exhausted all her Christmas toys and 
games; and, with her little freckled nose 
flattened on the window-pane, had been 
drearily looking out into the bright, free 
world for an hour or more, when she spied 
Marjorie coming up the garden path — 
Marjorie with her red-brown curls flying 


Hillcrest 87 

in the breeze, and her eyes dancing mer- 
rily, a very spirit of life and mischief. 

“ It’s the little girl from Talbots with 
a letter! ” called Eveleen to her old nurse 
Rody, who was stiff and lame. “ I’ll go 
get it,” she said, bounding downstairs. 

And Marjorie was welcomed as a de- 
lightful break in the long, tiresome day. 

“ Come in and rest,” said Eveleen, hos- 
pitably. “ You have had such a long 
walk! ” 

The big open door showed an inviting 
vista within. Hillcrest was the finest 
place in the country; and Eveleen, whom 
Marjorie had seen sometimes driving by 
Manor Hill wrapped in velvet and furs, 
was the first little girl she had met since 
New Year’s. She was the “ spiledest 
chile in all creation,” according to old 
Nance, who had once been her nurse; and 
Marjorie scarcely expected such cordial 
consideration from her. 

“ Come up to my room,” said the young 


88 


Hillcrest 


lady of the house, as simple Marjorie 
stood quite dazed by the splendors of the 
open drawing-room, with its mirrors and 
draperies and pictures. “ I’ve got a cold 
and can’t stay down here. Mamma and 
Marian are out, so you can talk to me.” 

“ It’s only a note from Miss Talbot,” 
said the little visitor, hastily. “ She wants 
you all to come to the Mass at Manor Hill 
next Sunday. Oh, isn’t this a beautiful 
house? ” continued Marjorie, with a long- 
drawn breath of admiration. “ Pictures 
everywhere, and pink roses all over the 
carpet, and — my goodness ! ” the little 
speaker recoiled before a full-length mir- 
ror, at sight of the small figure that con- 
fronted her therein. “ Why, that’s me ! " 

“ Yes,” replied Eveleen, staring. “ Did 
you never see yourself before? ” 

“Never — big like that,” said Mar- 
jorie, laughing at the rosy image that 
faced her. “ Such a head! My! I look 
funny, don’t I? ” 


Hillcrest 


89 


“ Yes,” said Eveleen. “ You ought to 
make Miss Talbot buy you a new hat. I 
wouldn’t wear that old thing for anybody. 
I’ve got three feathers in mine, and a 
velvet coat trimmed with fur.” 

“ I know,” said Marjorie. “ I’ve seen 
you often driving by Manor Hill, and you 
looked fine.” 

“ And I got lots of things Christmas,” 
Miss Eveleen went on, naturally pleased 
at so appreciative a listener : “ a pearl pin 
and a watch and a new muff, and a globe 
of goldfish.” 

“ Goldfish ! ” echoed the other girl, pre- 
pared for any sort of glittering posses- 
sions in this boastful young lady. “ Are 
they alive? ” 

“Alive? Oh course! What a queer 
girl you are! Come up and I’ll show them 
to you.” 

And Marjorie followed her hostess up 
the broad, polished stairs to a room that, 
to the simple little orphan of St. Vin- 


90 


Hillcrest 


cent’s, was a very dream of wonder and 
delight. The big, broad windows were 
draped in silk and lace; the soft rugs were 
of fur, spotless as snow; the tiny toilet- 
table glittered with gold and silver and 
crystal things that Marjorie could not 
even name ; while all around, on table and 
shelf and book case, were the treasures 
that love and wealth shower on the young 
lives they strive to bless ; books and games 
and costly toys ; the goldfish darting hither 
and thither in their crystal prison; a yel- 
low canary singing in his gilded cage; a 
white poodle curled up in a satin-lined 
basket; a French doll that could walk, 
stiffly, around the room, in a trailing gown 
of pink satin, waving a feathered fan. 
And “ spiled ” little Eveleen, who had 
grown tired of all these wonderful things, 
found a new pleasure and pride in Mar- 
jorie’s honest bewilderment and delight. 

“ Oh, it’s like a fairy tale! ” said Mar- 
jorie, who had quite forgotten Manor 


Hillcrest 


91 


Hill and the message and Miss Martha — 
everything, in this enchanted palace. “ It’s 
just as good as being a fairy queen.” 

“ Yes,” said Eveleen, quite charmed at 
such homage. “ I can have everything I 
want — everything! Come into the con- 
servatory now,” she added, as she led her 
visitor down the stairs into a great, crys- 
tal-domed room, where Marjorie stood ab- 
solutely speechless for a moment with 
wonder and admiration; for here was 
Fairyland indeed ; here was Summer in all 
her beauty; here were palms waving and 
roses blooming, and vines trailing over 
trellis and wall. Here — the thought 
struck Marjorie in the midst of her be- 
wildered delight — here were flowers — 
flowers in plenty for the altar at Manor 
Hill! And Miss Martha wanted them so 
much — kind Miss Martha, who was so 
sad, and cried so often when no one but 
Marjorie saw her, and who wanted all 
things beautiful for the last Mass. 


92 


Hillcrest 


Marjorie found courage and voice. 

“ Oh, can I have some? ” she asked ap- 
pealingly of the queen who claimed all 
this as her own. “ Can I have some of 
these beautiful flowers to take home with 
me? Miss Martha is so sorry because we 
have none for our altar for the last Mass 
at Manor Hill!” 

Could she have flowers — flowers ? 
Miss Eveleen was fairly struck dumb for 
an instant by the effrontery of such a re- 
quest. Flowers, that even Eveleen her- 
self, “ spiled ” child that she was, was not 
allowed to touch ! Only yesterday mamma 
had scolded her for picking a single rose, 
for, outside of her own room, Miss Eve- 
leen was only a very small princess, and 
stately mamma was the queen of Hill- 
crest. 

But it was hard to lay down the sceptre 
she had been flourishing so proudly be- 
fore Marjorie; hard to confess she could 
not give even a rosebud from this fairy 


Hillcrest 


93 


realm. What a fuss there would be if — 
if — a naughty gleam flashed into Eve- 
leen’s gray eyes. 

“ Take all you want,” she answered, 
hurriedly — “ all you want.” 

“Oh, how nice you are!” exclaimed 
Marjorie; and, needing no further bid- 
ding, she plunged into the fragrant depths 
around, and began to pluck bud and blos- 
som with reckless hand. 

Oh, how beautiful they were — how 
beautiful! Red roses and white, and long 
rows of the spotless lilies Miss Martha 
had longed for; and great, golden-hearted 
scarlet blossoms that Marjorie could not 
name; and trees of soft, feathery green 
towering over all. Nothing could be too 
beautiful or sweet for God’s altar, as Sis- 
ter Seraphina had always said, when she 
stripped the white rosebushes in St. Vin- 
cent’s little garden of every bud for the 
Forty Hours’. 

“ Oh, how beautiful Manor Hill altar 


94 


Hillcrest 


will look, and how pleased Miss Martha 
will be!” thought Marjorie, as, uncon- 
scious in her delight that naughty Eveleen 
had slipped off and left her alone, she 
snapped the long-stemmed lilies one after 
another, broke off the feathery palms and 
ferns, stripping the richest and rarest ex- 
otics of their brightest bloom. 

She had just climbed up on a green 
bench to a blossom-laden orange tree, 
when a voice, thunderous as the 
“ Beast’s ” in the fairy tale, made this 
poor little “ Beauty ” almost topple 
down. 

“ Ye murdherin’ little thafe of the wur- 
ruld, what is it ye’re doin’ at all ? ” 

And an awful-looking old man sprang 
out upon her — an old man with bristling 
red hair and fiery eyes. 


CHAPTER VII 

A FRIEND IN NEED 

“TERRY, Jerry! ” called a softer voice; 
** and as Marjorie dropped her flowers 
in a fragrant heap, and stood blank and 
breathless, Mrs. Hill, wrapped in furs, 
appeared at the conservatory door. 

“Great Heavens!” gasped the lady. 
“ What — what does this mean? ” 

“ It manes I’ll have the harrut out of 
this little divil!” cried the old gardener, 
furiously. “ Sure I only turned around 
for a minute to prune the plum-tree, and 
whin I got back, ma’am, I found this 
murdherin’, thavin’ ruin here! The aza- 
leas, the lilies — ochone ! luk at the wurruk 
she’s done! Sure, killin’ is too good for 
her, ma’am! ” 


95 


96 


A Friend in Need 


“My flowers, my beautiful flowers!” 
cried the mistress of Hillcrest, hysteri- 
cally. “ She has ruined them all, all — 
my roses, my rhododendrons, my ferns! 
You little wretch! ” 

“ Oh, they were for the altar, for the 
altar!” replied Marjorie, in bewildered 
terror. 

“ For the altar, ye little divil ! ” roared 
Jerry, wrathfully. “ Did ever one hear 
the loikes of the lies! For the altar , ye 
murdherin’ young reprobate ! ” 

“ She told me I could have them — she 
told me!” sobbed Marjorie, wildly. 

“ Who towld ye, ye thafe of the wur- 
ruld? ” asked the old man, fiercely. 

“ The little girl — Eveleen.” 

“ O mamma,” exclaimed Miss Marian 
Hill, at her mother’s side, “ Eveleen 
would not touch a flower, I know! ” 

“ Go call her — ask her,” said the lady, 
excitedly. 

“ She is lying down with a dreadful 


A Friend in Need 97 

headache, mamma,” said Miss Marian, re- 
appearing. “ She says Miss Talbot’s little 
orphan girl came here and gave her a note 
at the door, and that is all she knows.” 

“ Oh, what a story — what a big, awful 
story!” cried Marjorie, with wide-open 
eyes. 

“Hush!” said Mrs. Hill, angrily — 
“you wretched little beggar, hush! Do 
you mean to tell me my daughter lies ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am, I do — I do! ” Marjorie 
lifted her head and spoke with flashing 
eyes. “ If she says she didn’t bring me 
in here and tell me I could have flowers, 
she does tell lies, ma’am.” 

“Land! the sassiness of the little 
wretch!” said the housemaid, who had 
come to hear the fuss. 

“ Lock the little beggar up ! ” cried 
Mrs. Hill, white with rage. “ Lock her 
up, Jerry, until Mr. Hill comes home. 
Some one shall pay for this. Those two 
foolish old maids shall not let such a 


98 


A Friend in Need 


wicked little creature as this run loose in 
the county. She is dangerous, positively 
dangerous.” 

“ It’s in the Reform she ought to be 
this minute,” interposed the cook, who had 
joined the crowd. 

“Off with ye! ” said old Jerry, catch- 
ing Marjorie rudely by the arm. “ I’ll 
kape her safe enough, ma’am, till the 
masther comes home, and it’s the jail or 
workhouse she’ll get thin.” 

“Oh, no, no, no!” cried Marjorie, 
bursting into wild, terrified tears. “ Don’t 
send me to jail — don’t, don’t, don’t, 
please! Oh, I didn’t know it was any 
harm ! She told me to take the flowers — 
Eveleen told me, indeed.” 

“ Aye, I’ll swear to that! ” said a clear 
young voice ; and a tall boy of about six- 
teen suddenly rose from behind a screen 
of vines. 

“ Dick ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Hill and 
Marian, in amazement. 


A Friend in Need 


99 


“ Yes. I stole off from Mr. Brace this 
afternoon to go fishing, mother; and was 
down there in Jerry’s potting bed, dig- 
ging worms,” confessed Dick. 44 Heard 
the whole business. Thought I’d lie low 
and see if things wouldn’t blow over ; but 
it’s up to me now to bear witness for this 
poor little kid. She is telling the simple 
truth. She said she would like to have 
some flowers for the altar at Manor Hill; 
and Eveleen, who was making a big bluff 
in your absence, told her to take all she 
wanted.” 

44 Eveleen! ” exclaimed his mother. 44 O 
Dick.” 

44 It’s time your eyes were opened to 
that young lady’s tricks,” said Dick. 
44 Fibbing is an old game of hers, as I 
know; but she has been such a poor, puny 
little thing always, that I never 4 peached ’ 
on her before. But I couldn’t stand back 
to-day even for my own sister. She lied, 
mother — tricked and lied ; that’s the be- 


100 


A Friend in Need 


ginning and end of it. I suppose I ought 
to have struck in sooner; but I was out 
on the sneak myself for a fish in the creek, 
and didn’t want any one to know. Father 
threatened to cut off my pocket-money 
the next time I stole off from old Brace; 
and I knew Eveleen would report 
promptly to headquarters if I meddled 
with her little game. So I was cad enough 
to keep quiet until — until I just had to 
speak out. So stop all this fuss, and let 
this poor little midget go.” 

“ Afther murdherin’ every flower in the 
hothouse!” groaned Jerry. “ Arrah luk 
at thim, Mr. Dick, darlint, — luk at the 
lilies and the azaleas and the whole of 
them that we were nursin’ for Easter! 
■Och, wurra, wurra, but this is the black 
day’s wurruk! ” 

“ I didn’t know — I didn’t know,” said 
Marjorie, lifting tearful eyes to her 
yomig defender — “ I thought nothing 
was too pretty for the altar, for Miss 


A Friend in Need 


101 


Martha said it would be the last Mass at 
Manor HE” 

“ The last Mass! What does the child 
mean? ” asked Mrs. Hill, irritably. 

“ What she says, I suppose,” replied 
her son. “ Everyone knows the money- 
lenders have got their grip on Manor Hill, 
and it’s tightening every year. We’ve 
been going up there ever since I can re- 
member, and ever since father can remem- 
ber, too. If this is to be the last Mass, I 
say strip the place of every flower 
for it.” 

“ Faix, and that’s done already,” re- 
torted old Jerry, dolefully. “ She’s tuk 
the head of ivery plant in the hothouse.” 

“ Pooh-pooh ! ” said Dick, carelessly. 
“ They’ll grow new heads in a week. Here, 
gather them all up in a basket, old man. 
It’s too late for little girls to be out alone. 
I am going to take the kid and her flowers 
back to Manor Hill — with your compli- 
ments, mother,” he added, laughing. “ It’s 


102 


A Friend in Need 


all we can do now to make up for Eve- 
leen’s naughty trick.” 

And so it happened that after this 
crushing down Marjorie bobbed up again 
triumphantly; for big, kind-hearted Dick 
went home with her, carrying such a 
basket of flowers as had never decked the 
altar of Manor Hill even in its palmiest 
days. And, being clever as well as kind, 
Dick contrived to smooth matters over 
considerably to the still tearful little girl. 
It had all been a mistake; Jerry was a 
stupid old fellow, who did not know 
his head from a hole in the ground; and 
Eveleen was sick and cross just now; 
and his mother did not understand, and 
so on. 

By the time they reached the gate of 
Manor Hill Marjorie had almost forgot- 
ten her dreadful experience in its pleasant 
termination. Father James had arrived, 
and the whole place seemed to have 
warmed and brightened with his cheerful 
presence. He had been pastor at Sandy 


A Friend in Need 


103 


Point for thirty years, and had baptized 
or married or buried everybody for miles 
around; while the joys and sorrows and 
worries he carried about in his big, kind 
heart were enough to weigh him down with 
their burden. But he was tall and strong 
and sturdy, with the kindest and keenest 
of eyes beaming under his grey brows and 
crisp, curling silver hair; and when he 
rolled up to a door in his shabby old car- 
riage he seemed to bring with him sum- 
mer and sunshine. 

Already there was a happy flush on 
Miss Martha’s cheek, and Miss Susan’s 
dim eyes had brightened under his fatherly 
cheer. And he had been at St. Vincent’s 
only the week before, and had seen Mother 
Thomasina and Sister Angela and Sister 
Seraphina, as he told Marjorie, patting 
her curly head, when she knelt to ask his 
blessing. 

And Dick, whom Father James had 
christened and scolded and taught, came 
in for a cheery welcome, too. 


104 


A Friend in Need 


“ Though why you are not in the 
Freshman class at St. Mark’s this year, 
instead of tacking on to Joe Brace still, 
I am sure I don’t know. Sixteen years 
old and doddling round your native hills 
with a tutor! Ah! Dickie my boy, if I 
had you, as I had half a dozen years ago, 
you’d move quicker than that. It’s gun 
and fishing-rod instead of pen or pencil 
with you the best part of your time. I’ll 
wager my new hat.” 

“ I guess you’ve about struck it. 
Father,” confessed Dick, laughing. 

“ I saw it in your eye,” said Father 
James. “It’s getting the loafer’s look, 
Dick — dull and dead and unseeing. With 
the brain that God has given you, it’s a 
shame — a burning shame! Joe Brace is 
a good enough fellow in his way; but 
you’ve outgrown him, my boy. You want 
the spur and lash, which he can’t give, to 
urge you on. You want the wrestle of 
brain and body in class-room and on 


A Friend in Need 105 

campus. In short, you want college, 
Dick.” 

“ I believe I do, and I’ll start next year. 
Father,” replied Dick, seriously. 

“ Next year! ” exclaimed Father James. 
“ What ! let your brain rust six months 
longer! Next year! Dick my boy, no! 
Start next week .” 

And so urgently did Father James 
press his point that before supper was 
served he had conquered. Dick was ready 
to drop gun and fishing-rod, and dig again 
at his Latin and Greek. 

And such a supper as it was! — with 
the big lamp burning under a pink globe, 
and all the old silver shining in a way 
that did credit to Marjorie’s busy little 
fingers; with the jelly Miss Martha kept 
for state occasions glowing ruby-red in 
the cut-glass bowl ; and biscuit and cream- 
cheese, and cake with icing. 

And after supper how very delightful 
it seemed! — with the old hickory logs 


106 


A Friend in Need 


snapping and blazing, and filling the room 
with cheery glow; while Father James sat 
in the big armchair, with Rex stretched at 
his feet, and told stories, wonderful true 
stories, of missions and travels, until Mar- 
jorie — who had been propping her eye- 
lids open with her finger for at least half 
an hour, to keep awake and hear — dozed 
off at last on her little cushion in the 
chimney-corner, and nearly tumbled into 
the fire. 

“ How is the little girl doing? ” asked 
Father James, as, with his fatherly 
“ good-night ” and blessing sounding 
pleasantly in her ears, Marjorie went off 
to her little nest under the eaves. “ Mother 
Thomasina told me how you had carried 
off the friskiest lamb of her flock.” 

“ She is a dear little thing, and I don’t 
know what I should do without her,” said 
Miss Martha, warmly. 

“ Heedless, of course,” added Miss 
Susan. “ But what can one expect from 
a child of twelve? ” 


A Friend in Need 


107 


“ Exactly,” said Father James. “ As 
I often tell the good Sisters, mischief, 
innocent mischief, is a healthy sign. Still 
waters run deep, and often the Evil One 
is at the bottom of them; but a merry, 
roguish, noisy child is like the mountain 
stream, clear and sweet.” 

“ But I do not know that we were wise 
to take the child,” observed Miss Susan. 
“ If we have to give up the place, as seems 
probable, we can not keep her, and — ” 

“ I see,” said Father J ames, thought- 
fully. “ I see. But don’t consider that 
yet. Let us hope that you will keep your 
home, my dear friends, as long as you 
both live.” 

“ Oh, that has been my prayer, Father, 
— my prayer all these later years ! ” said 
Miss Martha, tremulously. 

“ But we can’t look for miracles,” inter- 
posed Miss Susan, brusquely. “ The 
money has to be paid before New Year’s, 
or the place will be sold. And we can’t 


108 


A Friend in Need 


expect three thousand dollars to drop 
from the clouds, pray as we will.” 

“ Certainly not,” said Father James, 
laughing. “And yet the manna did of 
old, my child. And I feel — I can not 
tell why — that this dear old home, sanc- 
tified by the faith and hope and love of so 
many holy generations, will be spared to 
you, the last of your loyal faithful line. 
Mother Thomasina will be glad to hear 
that little Marjorie gives satisfaction. 
Knowing you were in my parish, she was 
speaking to me of her last week. It seems 
they have received one or two mysterious 
letters at St. Vincent’s, inquiring about 
the child — letters which I advised Mother 
to answer very cautiously. These poor 
little waifs sometimes have enemies all un- 
known to them.” 

“ Enemies ! God bless me ! ” exclaimed 
Miss Susan, startled. “ The Sisters told 
me this child’s story was simple enough. 
They took her from a tenement in their 


A Friend in Need 109 

neighborhood where her grandmother had 
died suddenly, leaving this two-year-old 
girl absolutely friendless.” 

“ The genuine grandmother is a jewel, 
as we all know,” said Father James, smil- 
ing; “but there are base imitations that 
can be bought cheap anywhere. This is a 
sad world, my friends, full of tragedies 
and mysteries that never touch lives like 
yours. I am glad little Marjorie is safe 
with you in this sheltered home, and I feel 
that God will bless you for your loving 
care of His orphaned little one.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


SHADOWS OF EVIL 

N the same evening that saw Mar- 



jorie seated so happily in the chim- 
ney-corner, at Father James’ feet, two 
gentlemen were smoking over the remains 
of a very good dinner in a private room 
of the “ Talbot Arms,” an old tavern on 
the River-road some four miles distant 
from Manor Hill. They had driven out 
from town that afternoon, and put up for 
the night; wishing, as they told Eben 
Tibbs, their host, to inspect some farm 
lands for sale in the neighborhood. 

“ Reckon it’s Manor Hill,” drawled 
Eben to his wife, as he gave the order for 
his guests’ dinner. “ Folks say it’s goin’ 


110 


Ill 


Shadows of Evil 

to be put up at auction before the year is 
out, and sold to the highest bidder.” 

“ Don’t come croakin’ no such bad news 
as that to me, Eben Tibbs,” said Mrs. 
Tibbs, who was a comely, rosy woman of 
forty. “ For it would be the death of Miss 
Martha; and my own mother was no 
nearer to me than that blessed woman for 
the ten years I was housemaid at Manor 
Hill.” 

“ Well, it’s what everybody says,” con- 
tinued Eben, gloomily. 

4 4 Everybody says a deal that ain’t 
true,” answered Mrs. Tibbs, sharply. 
44 I’m goin’ up to the Mass to-morrow 
mornin’, and see for myself how things 
are. And, in the meantime, you’d best 
keep your mouth closed and tend to your 
own business. Creamed oysters and roast 
chicken, you say? It must be a pair of 
swells with full pockets you’ve got up- 
stairs this evenin’. Well, I’ll cook if 
they’ll pay for it.” 


112 


Shadows of Evil 


And, having disposed of this very ex- 
cellent dinner, the two “ swells ” were 
now smoking fine cigars, and discussing 
what seemed a matter of exceeding in- 
terest. 

“ You’ll have to follow up the game 
yourself, Gresham,” said one, a dark- 
haired, heavy-browed man of about thirty. 
“ I understand clearly that I am to pay 
for every move. The child — if there was 
a child — ” 

“ There was a child without doubt,” in- 
terrupted the other, who was spare and 
thin, with cold, keen, gray eyes and sandy 
hair. “ Your cousin Marjorie left a child ; 
and if the old man, your uncle, in his pres- 
ent mood, hears of her — well, it will be 
bad for you, Lindsay.” 

“ Confound it! I know that too well,” 
said the other, angrily. “ And I know 
you, too, for the crafty old fox you are, 
Gresham. How did you nose this busi- 
ness out? ” 


113 


Shadows of Evil 

“ I’m in that line just now,” was the 
answer, with an unpleasant laugh. “ Since 
— well, since I’ve been shut out of the 
courts, I’ve had to use my lawyer’s wit 
and training in other ways; and I find 
digging out old family secrets is the best 
paying business I can follow. I have a 
natural turn for it. I have friends who 
understand that I pay for old letters, old 
deeds, old documents of all kinds that are 
found hidden, lost, or forgotten, by death 
or misfortune. 

“ About three months ago an old iron 
box was brought to me. It had been found 
in the chimney-place of a tumble-down 
tenement that was being overhauled for 
repairs. The chimney-place had been 
closed by a fireboard, and the box must 
have been lying there for years. It was 
full of yellowing papers. I paid fifty 
cents for the find, and proceeded to in- 
vestigate. I found the contents of inter- 
est, as you know. There was a number 


114 


Shadows of Evil 

of letters that had been returned unread 
by an angry father to his wilful daughter; 
there was the marriage certificate of Mar- 
jorie Lindsay and Roger Mayne; there 
was a letter from the young mother an- 
nouncing the birth of her little girl — a 
pathetic missive, returned unread like the 
rest; there was the death notice of Roger 
Mayne, and various other details telling 
of the last struggles of poverty — pawn 
tickets for jewels, clothing, and wedding 
ring; finally, there was an undertaker’s 
bill of the poorest sort, paid in full by 
Ellen Moran — a tragic culmination to 
reach the ears of a millionaire father, who 
is softened by time and change.” 

“But the child, the child?” said the 
other, irritably. “ How and where did 
you hear of the child? ” 

“ As I told you, I am in the investiga- 
ting line,” answered Gresham, with his 
cold smile. “ Ellen Moran was my cue, 
and I followed her up. I found she had 


115 


Shadows of Evil 

been a lodger in this old tenement some 
ten years ago, and that she had died 
there suddenly of heart disease, leaving a 
4 grandchild,’ who had been taken to St. 
Vincent’s Orphan Asylum, December, 
18 — , under the name of Marjorie 
Mayne.” 

44 The woman’s own grandchild, called 
perhaps after her young mistress,” said 
Lindsay, eagerly. 44 Ellen Moran was a 
nurse in my uncle’s house for years; and, 
naturally — ” 

44 Was faithful and devoted to the last,” 
continued Gresham, in his cold, measured 
tone. 44 1 continued to follow my clue, 
and found three witnesses, former fellow- 
lodgers of this Ellen Moran, who are 
ready to swear that the woman told them 
that the little girl was the daughter of her 
young mistress, Marjorie Lindsay Mayne, 
your beautiful cousin, who married so 
recklessly, against her father’s will, and 
was disowned by him fifteen years ago.” 


116 


Shadows of Evil 

“ That has to be proved yet,” said the 
other, sullenly. “ But go on ; you’ve 
hunted this supposed cousin of mine 
down.” 

“Not yet,” answered Gresham; “but 
I hope to before long. I wrote to St. Vin- 
cent’s for information of this Marjorie 
Mayne; and was answered, very briefly, 
that such a child had been admitted ten 
years ago, but had been placed out, ac- 
cording to their rules, under fitting guard- 
ianship; and that, until right for further 
inquiry could be shown, they could tell me 
no more. But I learned from a small 
bojr, who sometimes does errands for the 
Sisters, that on New Year’s eve a Miss 
Talbot, who lives somewhere in this neigh- 
borhood, took one of the little orphans 
from St. Vincent’s; and I am up here 
to discover, if possible, who and where 
that orphan is, and whether she is called 
Marjorie Mayne. I believe I am on the 
right track at last.” 


Shadows of Evil 117 

“ And if she is — if she is? ” said Lind- 
say, with much excitement. 

“ If she is, my dear fellow, the next 
question is : Who will pay me best for all 
the information I have gathered so labor- 
iously on this matter? You or your hon- 
ored uncle, the little lady’s grandfather? ” 
The younger man sprang to his feet 
with a muttered oath. 

“ You’ve got the nippers on me, Gres- 
ham, and you know it. I have played 
fast and loose as my uncle’s heir. If he 
should hear of this child, it would mean 
ruination to me. But as yet — as yet — 
there is no real proof that the child is 
Marjorie’s, even if you find her; no proof 
that will hold good in my uncle’s eye. You 
know what a man he is : how he has earned 
his name, ‘ Eagle ’ Lindsay? ” 

“ Aye, I know — I know! ” and for the 
first time Gresham’s voice changed and 
the cold face seemed to darken with pas- 
sion. “ It was that eagle eye of his that 


118 


Shadows of Evil 

ruined me by its searching light; and I 
owe him no love for it. But business is 
business; and I can’t afford to rake up 
old scores, unless, as in this case, they 
happen to pay.” 

“ I see,” said Lindsay, shortly; “it’s a 
matter both of spite and profit. You’re 
one of the cold-blooded devils, Gresham, 
and they are the worst kind. But I’m with 
you in this game, straight through. Now, 
what’s your next move? ” 

“ To see the child,” said Gresham — 
“ to see who and what and where she is. 
I hear there is to be some sort of a relig- 
ious meeting at these Talbots’ to-morrow 
morning, and I thought we might get in 
with the crowd and look around, without 
showing our hand. We have to play a 
cautious game; for the Romish Church 
is a powerful protector, and the child is un- 
der its watchful eye. But I think we can 
venture on a visit of investigation to-mor- 
row morning.” 


119 


Shadows of Evil 

Mrs. Eben Tibbs and her plump, rosy- 
cheeked daughter started early next morn- 
ing, a basket of good things such as that 
motherly dame knew how to provide 
stowed away under the seat of her spring- 
wagon ; for, as she remarked to her slower- 
witted spouse: 

“ I’m not goin’ to have those two 
blessed creatures feedin’ half the county 
and not lend a hand.” 

“ O ma,” said Polly Tibbs, as they 
turned into the road that led to Manor 
Hill, “ those gentlemen that put up at our 
house last night are behind us! I believe 
they are coming, too.” 

“ It’s none of our business if they are, 
child,” answered her mother, sharply; 
“ though I’d like to turn them to the right 
about on a day like this. It’s no time to 
be breakin’ them dear women’s hearts 
talkin’ about buyin’ and sellin’ their home. 
And I don’t like those men’s looks, as I 
told your father last night. They may be 


120 


Shadows of Evil 

swells, as he says; but they look to me 
precious like sharpers ; and I mean to tell 
Miss Susan to keep her eyes open, if they 
come dealin* with her.” 

Though quite unconscious of Mrs. 
Tibbs’ opinion, her late guests drove on, 
somewhat doubtfully, among the other 
vehicles turning toward Manor Hill. Far 
and near the summons had gone forth — 
for Jeb and Nance had had their mission 
as well as Marjorie — and the guests were 
gathering from cabin and cottage, from 
manor and hall. The Croftons, Hills, 
Lacys, and Mortons filled old family 
carriages that were rumbling along the 
road, on which were also hurrying pedes- 
trians from the hills and the river shore. 

“We won’t be noticed in the crowd,” 
said Gresham, encouragingly. “ It’s a 
sort of open-house meeting for all who 
wish to come, and we can slip in unob- 
served and have a look at the child. The 
orphan from St. Vincent’s is there , as I 


Shadows of Evil 


121 


learned by judicious questioning of our 
host last night.” 

“ What an old fox you are, Gresham! ” 
said Lindsay, with an uncomfortable 
laugh. 

“ Fox, wolf, or bloodhound, as you 
please — for I am called all three — I 
have learned to run down my game. And 
I feel pretty sure we shall find the bird 
we are hunting safe nested here,” he 
added, as they turned into the open gate- 
way of Manor Hill. “ By George, it’s a 
fine old place! ” the speaker continued, as 
he drove slowly along under the spreading 
oaks that arched the wide but neglected 
road, his keen eye taking in the prospect 
of orchard and meadow and hill that sur- 
rounded the low, broad house, with its 
pillared portico and gabled roof. “ One 
of those old homes that men fight and die 
for. Tibbs tells me the Talbots have been 
the first people in the county for nearly 
two hundred years — ” 


122 


Shadows of Evil 

“ And we are breaking in upon them 
like this,” interrupted the younger man, 
nervously. “ I tell you, I don’t like your 
ways, Gresham. People of such standing 
can’t be fooled and meddled with. We 
shall get kicked out, and it will serve us 
right.” 

“Pooh-pooh! no danger,” said the 
other, lightly. “ There are no men left to 
do any kicking; only two women — two 
poor simple-minded old maids. They will 
think we have come to pray with the rest. 
Keep your mouth shut and your eyes 
open, and there will be nothing to fear.” 

And, acting on his own advice, he drew 
his horse up behind the big family car- 
riage of the Croftons, flung the reins to 
Jeb’s little grandson Nick, who, with half 
a dozen of his mates, stood near, grinning ; 
and both evil plotters sprang out at the 
door of Manor Hill. 

There were none to notice or forbid 
their coming. The two gentle mistresses 


Shadows of Evil 


123 


of the old home were already on their 
knees before the altar that loving hands 
had once more made beautiful for its 
Divine Guest. The old drawing-room 
had wakened into something of its ancient 
glory. The light from the broad windows 
fell through faded splendors of crimson 
damask and costly lace. The sanctuary, 
marked by two colonial pillars that di- 
vided the spacious room, was covered by 
a Persian rug brought by a sailor Talbot 
from the Far East. Richly wrought 
draperies of linen and lace covered the 
temporary altar, above which rose the 
Talbot cross, a crucifix of ebony and silver 
brought by the first exile for the Faith 
across the sea. Tall silver candlesticks 
burnished into brilliancy upheld the spot- 
less tapers ; while above and around, 
massed in glowing profusion, were the 
Hillcrest flowers, filling the room with 
fragrance. 

A touching and holy scene it was to 


124 


Shadows of Evil 

meet the cold and evil eyes of the two 
strange visitors who gazed in upon its 
beauty to-day. 


CHAPTER IX 

GATHERING CLOUDS 

A S the last candle was lit on the altar, 
Marjorie stood back enraptured. 
Oh, how beautiful it was, this little home 
chapel, that seemed her very own; for she 
had planned and worked and — as a 
glance at the Hillcrest flowers reminded 
her — even suffered for it all! And now 
she was to sing; for Miss Martha’s voice 
was feeble and broken. Marjorie had 
been trained to lead the simple hymns at 
St. Vincent’s, and when she sang it was 
with the joy of a bird carolling in mid-air. 

She knelt at her good friend’s side, feel- 
ing as if she were in some heavenly dream, 
as black and white, rich and poor, crowded 
into the room. Then Father James, in 


125 


126 Gathering Clouds 

his shining silvery vestments, approached 
the altar, with Dick Hill and Bert looking 
strangely good in their acolytes’ surplices ; 
and the Mass began. The priest’s deep 
tones and the servers’ responses were for 
a few moments the only sounds in the 
solemn silence. But presently Miss 
Martha’s trembling fingers touched the 
melodeon, and a fresh, clear young voice 
burst into melody that startled every ear. 

Little Marjorie stood in the soft light 
of the candles at Miss Martha’s side sing- 
ing her orphan’s hymn. The dark face of 
one of the strangers at the door grew 
ashen at the sight and sound. 

“ Come! ” he whispered hoarsely, clutch- 
ing his companion’s arm — “ come out of 
here, quick! ” 

“ Gemman sick? ” inquired old Jeb, 
who was on duty in the hall. 

“ No — yes: the place is too close for 
him,” answered Gresham, as they pushed 
their way through the open door into the 


Gathering Clouds 127 

outer air. “ Brace up, man! ” he con- 
tinued. “ You are as white as a ghost. 
What’s the matter with you? ” 

“The child!” gasped Lindsay, when 
they stood alone without the house. “ Did 
you see — did you hear her? It is Mar- 
jorie herself — Marjorie’s eyes and hair 
and face and voice — the Marjorie Lind- 
say of twenty years ago.” 

“ It is as I thought, then. Good! ” ex- 
claimed Gresham, triumphantly. 

“ Good! ? ’ echoed Lindsay, with a fierce 
oath. “ Good, do you say? Do you know 
what this means to me, man? If my uncle 
should see this girl, or hear of her, I am 
ruined, beggared, lost. Put your devil’s 
wits to work, Gresham. You must save 
me at any price.” 

All unconscious of the two evil spirits 
she had banished from the holy place, little 
Marjorie sang on, while voices young and 
old took up the familiar hymn; and the 


128 Gathering Clouds 

Mass went on solemnly and sweetly to its 
close. And, though Miss Susan’s brave 
lips were quivering, and Miss Martha’s 
tender eyes dim with tears, and many a 
kindly heart around the altar was heavy 
with thoughts of coming change, it was, 
all in all, a festal morning at Manor Hill. 

Then there was the breakfast — such a 
big, cheery, hospitable breakfast, with 
Father James at the head of the long 
table, and Miss Martha pouring the coffee 
for all who came; and Marjorie, with 
her red-brown curls flying as she bustled 
around with cream and sugar, hot biscuits 
and broiled ham, the blithest and busiest 
of little maids. Altogether, it was a morn- 
ing of pure delight to our little girl, who 
only half understood the underlying sad- 
ness that found whispered speech among 
the older folks. 

“ My mother has been crying,” confided 
Polly Tibbs to Marjorie, as, with inter- 
locked arms, they walked back from the 


Gathering Clouds 129 

gate whither all the young folks had 
flocked to see Father James off and get 
his parting blessing. “ I haven’t seen her 
cry before since little Mattie died, and I 
am sure she feels dreadful. She is so fond 
of Miss Talbot ; and everybody is talking 
about there not being Mass here any more, 
because some man is going to buy the 
place and pull down the house — ” 

“Pull down the house!” interrupted 
Marjorie, aghast. “ Pull down this 
house! What for? ” 

“ To turn the place into a dairy farm,” 
continued Miss Polly, who had not passed 
her twelve years of life at a road-house 
without learning business methods. 

“ Oh, but — but Miss Susan and Miss 
Martha would never, never let them!” 
answered Marjorie, indignantly. 

“ They can’t help it,” said Polly, 
shrewdly. “ I heard Miss Betty Crofton 
telling mother all about it : how old J udge 
Talbot had borrowed the money long ago, 


130 Gathering Clouds 

and Miss Susan and Miss Martha couldn’t 
pay it, and they would have to give up the 
place to Asa Greene, who meant to pull 
down the old house.” 

“ Oh, don’t, dont say that ! ” cried Mar- 
jorie, to whom, despite all the whispers 
and rumors that had reached her from the 
grown-up folks, this plain talk from Polly 
came as a revelation. “ Nobody would be 
so mean, so horrid as to do that.” 

“ Oh, yes, they would! ” replied Polly, 
sagely. “ Asa Greene would. He said 
the place was an old Papist rat-trap, and 
he was going to pull it down for the bricks, 
and build cow stables. What’s the mat- 
ter? ” asked Polly, in dismay, as her com- 
panion suddenly drew away her arm and 
dropped despairingly on a flat rock beside 
the road. 

“ Don’t mind me,” said Marjorie, husk- 
ily. “I — I don’t want Miss Martha to 
see me crying, Polly; and I — I can’t help 
it. She is down there, putting the flowers 


Gathering Clouds 131 

from the altar on the graves under the 
cedars. Her mother is there, and her 
father, and her little girl sister, and her 
brother that was killed in the war, and 
everybody that died. Oh, and Asa Greene 
will take them too!” cried Marjorie, 
bursting into tears. 

“ Don’t now — don’t cry so, please!” 
said Polly. “ I didn’t know that you 
would care so much. It’s not your house 
or your people, you know.” 

“ Oh, yes, it is — yes, it is! " sobbed 
Marjorie. “ Miss Susan picked me out of 
all the other girls at St. Vincent’s, though 
I wasn’t half as nice as the rest, and Sister 
Angela told her I wouldn’t suit. And she 
and Miss Martha have been so good to 
me! They didn’t scold when I tumbled 
into the water, or broke the flowered 
pitcher, or scorched the pillowcases, or 
anything. I’m just like their own little 
girl.” 

“ Maybe they will keep you just the 


132 Gathering Clouds 

same,” said Polly; “ only my mother says 
it will kill Miss Martha if she has to leave 
Manor Hill.” 

“ Oh, it will, it will, I know! ” sobbed 
Marjorie. “ She has lived here all her 
life, and her mother and her grandmother, 
and everybody. And they planted the 
roses and the apple-trees and the currants. 
And General Washington used to sit 
under the hollow oak on the lawn and talk 
to her great-grandfather. Miss Martha 
has told me beautiful stories about every- 
thing: the Talbot cross and the chalice, 
and the lamp that used to burn long ago 
in a chapel where the priest had to hide 
when he came to say Mass.” 

In vain Polly tried to console her. Mar- 
jorie at last understood the sore need of 
prayers and novenas. The sorrow that 
had been only a vague, undefined shadow 
rose in all its black despair before her 
lively fancy. Manor Hill to be sold ! The 
old, old home that seemed to have opened 


Gathering Clouds 133 

its arms and taken the homeless little 
orphan to its warm, sheltering breast — 
Manor Hill to be sold and pulled down! 

The dreadful thought of the coming 
misfortune haunted Marjorie that night, 
and many nights, as she lay awake in her 
little nest under the eaves, watching the 
shadows of the budding boughs dance on 
her white ceiling, and listening to the 
sleepy twitter of the brown birds that had 
started housekeeping beneath her dormer 
window. 

And, sad thoughts and wakeful nights 
being strange to Marjorie, she grew nerv- 
ous and awkward. The dishpan turned 
over at her touch ; cups and saucers slipped 
from her fingers; finally, Miss Martha’s 
favorite bowl, on which a blue Japanese 
lady walked among boats and swans, fell 
with a crash at the little maid’s feet. 

“Marjorie, Marjorie! I can’t think 
what has come over you, child ! ” said Miss 
Martha. “ This is the third piece of china 
you have broken this week.” 


134 Gathering Clouds 

And for answer Marjorie dropped on 
her knees, and, burying her face in the 
good lady’s housekeeping apron, burst 
into a wild passion of tears. 

“ There, there, child! Never mind! It 
isn’t a thing to cry over like that. But 
you’re nervous and upset, after all the 
company and excitement we’ve had here. 
Mrs. Lacy left her prayer-book and spec- 
tacles here, and misses them sadly, I know. 
Suppose you put on your coat and hat 
and take them to her? A little run in the 
sunshine will do you good.” 

And Miss Martha was right. There 
was a life and gladness in the sunshine of 
this beautiful day that would have cheered 
older and heavier hearts than Marjorie’s. 
Winter was still dozing on the heights, 
like an old man in his big armchair; but, 
though he roused himself now and then to 
grumble and growl, Spring was taking 
her own sweet way over valley and hill, 
awaking the grass and trees and flowers. 


Gathering Clouds 135 

Her whisper seemed to steal into Mar- 
jorie’s ear as the warm breeze fanned her 
cheek; and, the sadness and the fear lifted 
from her heart for the moment, she forgot 
Asa Greene and the dark cloud of trouble 
that hung over Manor Hill, and went 
skipping gleefully down the road that led 
to the farm-gate, where a bent, withered 
old woman with a basket on her arm was 
just entering. 

“ Goodness! ” said Marjorie, “ here you 
are again! Miss Susan won’t buy any of 
your stuff — she said so — so there’s no 
use in going up to worry her.” 

“ Nice herbs, nice roots; good for pains, 
for aches, for drinks — for all tilings,” 
said the old woman, who wore a ragged 
red cloak with a hood drawn around an 
old face, brown and wrinkled as a dried 
apple; but whose black eyes still shone, in 
their deep sockets, bright and watchful as 
a bird’s. 

“We don’t want any,” answered Mar- 


136 Gathering Clouds 

jorie, positively. “ Miss Susan dries all 
she needs.” 

“ Not these,” said the old crone, shak- 
ing her head. “ Only the gypsies dry 
these, little lady; only the gypsies know 
where to find them under the moonlight 
and the dew. Old Selma has roots that 
give life to the sick, that make the old 
young again. But the little lady wants 
none of these, I know,” continued the old 
woman, showing her toothless gums in a 
wheedling smile. “ She is strong and 
young and beautiful; but I can tell her 
things she will be glad to hear.” 

“ No, I won’t,” answered Marjorie, 
stoutly. “ I don’t want any of your for- 
tune-telling. It’s a sin. And you don’t 
tell true, either. You told Aunt Nance’s 
Sophie she had three husbands in her 
hand, and she died before she got even 
one of them.” 

“ It was a black hand and did not read 
true,” said the old woman. “ But the lit- 


Gathering Clouds 137 

tie lady’s eyes are bright, her cheeks are 
fair. She should be rich and grand, and 
wear beautiful dresses and golden rings.” 

“ Pooh! ” said Marjorie. “ I don’t care 
for beautiful dresses: they tear too easily. 
And I wouldn’t wear a ring if I could. 
But ” (with a sudden remembrance of 
Asa Greene) “ I’d like to be rich. I’d 
like to have piles and piles of money. Oh, 
I wish I could find a big iron pot full of 
gold! ” 

The old gypsy’s keen eyes blinked un- 
der their grizzled brows. 

“ You can, little lady,” she answered, 
nodding. “ Old Selma can tell you how 
and where.” 


CHAPTER X 

OLD SELMA’S STORY 

“/^H, can you? ” asked Marjorie, for- 
getful for the moment of all things 
but the one need of a “ pot of gold ” at 
Manor Hill. 

Once more the crafty eyes read the in- 
nocent young face, and the old gypsy 
went on: 

“ What will the little lady give me to 
tell her? ” 

“ I haven’t anything,” said Marjorie, 
and her bright wits flashed up again. “ If 
you want gold, why don’t you get the pot 
yourself? ” 

“ I dare not, little lady,” — the old 
crone shook her head. “ Selma is old and 
weak, and her children and her children’s 
children have gone from her.” 

138 


139 


Old Selma s Story 

“ Who told you about it? ” asked Mar- 
jorie, doubtfully. 

“ Listen, little lady, and I will tell you 
the story,” said the old woman; and Mar- 
jorie slackened her own springing step 
that her companion might hobble on at 
her side. “ My mother’s mother was the 
gypsy queen ; all the camps and the tribes 
obeyed her. She ruled from the moun- 
tains to the sea, from the land of snows 
to the land of flowers.” 

“ And did — did she live in a camp, 
too? ” asked Marjorie, who found it dif- 
ficult to picture a royal lady holding court 
in the smoky old tents in the hollow. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” answered her companion. 
“ But when she came among her people, 
it was like the moon shining among the 
stars, so great was she and so rich, with the 
long train of her wagons stretching far 
down the roadside, and her horses jingling 
silver bells, and her tents white as snow. 
And her gown was of red silk flowered 


140 


Old Selma s Story 


with blue and silver, and she wore six dia- 
mond stars for a crown.” 

The old woman smacked her lips and 
rolled her eyes, as she recounted these past 
glories, to which Marjorie listened with 
a breathless interest. 

“ And wherever she went,” continued 
the narrator, feeling she could safely en- 
large her wonderful story — “ wherever 
she went, the ‘ queen’s kettle ’ swung be- 
side her tent curtain, and every gypsy 
that passed had to throw into it a piece 
of gold.” 

“ Not — not to cook ! ” exclaimed Mar- 
jorie, in dismay at such reckless broth- 
making. 

“ No, child: to melt down and keep for 
her own. 

“ All went well until the time came for 
her to marry, and then there was trouble 
in the camps and among the tribes; for 
lovers came from the North, and the 
South, from the sunrise to the sunset — 


141 


Old Selma s Story 

aye, even from the lands beyond the sea 
— seeking her for a wife. But there was 
one who did not come; he only sent her a 
white lamb with a wreath of flowers about 
its neck. And she put the wreath on her 
head, and smiled. And though the gyp- 
sies asked her to choose, she would not 
listen to them. And again he that kept 
away sent her a white fawn with a chain 
of silver. And she put the chain about 
her throat, and her eyes grew bright as 
stars. And though the lovers who had 
come from the East and West pressed 
about her tent, she would not hear. And 
at last there came a white dove with a gold 
ring about its neck. And she put the ring 
upon her finger, and that night she left 
the tents of her people to be a white man’s 
bride. 

“ But when, later on, she would have 
brought him back as king, the gypsies 
rose, fierce and furious as the mountain 
streams when the snows melt and the 


142 


Old Selma s Story 


spring rains fall. They would have killed 
her and her husband together, if they 
had not fled far away into the sunset 
lands, where none knew or had heard of 
the gypsy queen. But before she fled, my 
mother’s mother, fearing evil, hid away all 
her gypsy gold, and her girdle and chains 
of silver, and her diamond crown. All 
these she buried deep where none could 
see. 

“ One hundred years ago they were 
buried, and no one has found them yet; 
for she dared not come back to search for 
her treasure, and her sons and daughters 
died around her in their springtime, and 
only I was left of all her race. To me she 
told the secret of her hiding-place; and I 
came back to live among her people, and 
follow the old trails over the valleys and 
hills, and search for the queen’s kettle. 
For long, long years I have looked for 
the sign my mother’s mother gave me ; but 
I have seen it at last. The gold is here, 
almost at your door.” 


Old Selma s Story 143 

“ Then, goodness gracious, why don’t 
you get it? ” asked Marjorie, eagerly. 

“ I dare not,” answered the old woman, 
in a stage whisper. “ My people would 
take it from old Selma and not leave her 
a coin for her own. For I am old and 
weak, little lady; my feet are slow and 
my hands tremble, and they have only 
curses and blows for me in the tents and 
the wagons. I would like to sit by the 
fireside of a home and rest until it is time 
to die.” 

“ Poor old woman! I should think you 
would! ” replied honest Marjorie, sym- 
pathetically. 

“ The little lady shall find the gold if 
she will listen to old Selma — find the 
gold and keep one half for her own.” 

“ One half! ” echoed Marjorie. “ Oh, I 
wonder if you are telling me the truth? 
It’s just — just like a fairy tale. One 
half of all that gold and silver and dia- 
monds would save Manor Hill.” 


144 


Old Selma s Story 

“ One half,” repeated the old woman, 
nodding — “ one half shall be the little 
lady’s own. For I have found the sign 
that my mother’s mother gave me when 
she told me to come to the shore by this 
river, and search for the rock marked with 
the iron ring. She pointed out the stars 
that would shine above it when the last 
moon of winter had darkened. The sign, 
little lady, I have found at last, back in 
the swamp below the milldam. The gold 
lies there.” 

“ Oh, let us go get it right away! ” said 
Marjorie, quite forgetful of Mrs. Lacy 
and her spectacles. “ Just let me have 
enough to pay Asa Greene, and you can 
take all the rest, and be nice and com- 
fortable and clean all your life. For if it 
was your grandmother that hid it, it’s 
yours by right, and nobody can take it 
away from you. Come, let’s go find it 
now.” 

“Not yet, little lady — not now. The 


145 


Old Selma s Story 

stars must point the place, you know. But 
to-night, little lady, old Selma will wait 
for you under the cedars by the farm gate; 
and if you come out, we will go together. 
But the little lady must say nothing until 
the gold is found.” 

“ Oh, I won’t!” answered Marjorie, 
eagerly. “ For Miss Martha wouldn’t let 
me go ; but if I come back to her with the 
money to pay Asa Greene, she can scold 
me just as much as she likes. Wait for 
me under the cedars, and after Miss Susan 
says night prayers I’ll come out sure. 
Here we are at Mrs. Lacy’s! I was just 
going to forget I had to stop. Good-by! 
I’ll come out, sure.” 

And Marjorie turned into the Lacys’ 
gate, and tripped up the steps, all aquiver 
with new and delightful hopes, which good 
Mrs. Lacy’s sighs and plaints over the 
coming changes at Manor Hill could not 
dispel. 

“ Come in, child, — come in! Yes, I did 


146 


Old Selma s Story 

forget my glasses and prayer-book; for 
I was crying so through the blessed Mass 
I could not read. I thought of the long 
years I had been going to Manor Hill, 
and that this was the last time; and those 
two dear creatures to be turned out of 
house and home ! And not a chick or child 
to lift a hand for those poor lone women 
in their old age! Dear! dear! dear! ” 
And the good old lady lapsed into tears 
again, as she brought out the gingerbread 
box and treated the little Manor Hill mes- 
senger to a spicy lunch. 

Meanwhile old Selma had shuffled on 
with her basket of herbs, careless, seem- 
ingly, of further business, her slow step 
quickening wonderfully as she turned 
from the turnpike into a narrow lane lead- 
ing to the river road. 

Halfway down this lane was a small 
house, rented occasionally to sportsmen 
who came for a few days’ hunting or fish- 
ing on the creeks. The old woman cau- 


147 


Old Selma s Story 

tiously knocked at the door, which was 
opened by a young man whose dress and 
temper both seemed disordered. 

“ Back again, you old fool? ” he said, 
angrily. “ What do you want now? 55 

For answer, Selma walked into the 
room and stood leaning against the wall, 
her bright, sunken eyes fixed on his face. 

“More money, of course ! 55 put in a 
colder voice from the fireside. 

“ More money, yes, gentlemen,” said 
their visitor, slowly — “ more money; for 
I’ve done what you asked . 55 

“ Trapped our bird, eh ? 55 exclaimed 
Gresham, starting forward eagerly, for 
the two sportsmen were the late guests of 
Mr. Eben Tibbs. 

“ Not yet, but I’ll have her to-night , 55 
replied the old woman — “ if you will 
make it fifty dollars more . 55 

“Not another cent ! 55 roared Lindsay. 
“ I tell you I won’t stay here to be fleeced 
by you and this old harpy, Gresham . 55 


148 


Old Seim as Story 


“ Your uncle landed in New York yes- 
terday,” said Gresham, meaningly. 

“ Let him land ! ” said the younger man, 
fiercely, “You would not dare face him, 
and I know it, Gresham.” 

“ I dare all things for money,” an- 
swered Gresham, quietly, though his cold 
white face grew whiter with anger as he 
spoke. “ Don’t be a fool at this stage 
of the game, Lindsay. You must give the 
old hag what she asks,” he added, in a 
lower tone. “ Come, speak out, old 
woman. Tell us what we are paying for. 
What have you done? ” 

“ What I promised,” said Selma. “ I 
have laid my spell. The little lady will 
follow me to-night wherever I lead.” 

“ She will ! ” said Gresham. “ I must 
say, then, you have powers of bewitching 
I can not see.” 

“ Selma is the seventh daughter of a 
seventh daughter,” continued the old 


149 


Old Selma s Story 

crone. “ She has power to work charms 
and spells.” 

“ Oh, let up on that bluff! ” said Lind- 
say, impatiently. “ I don’t see why you 
listen to this lying old fool, Gresham.” 

“ ’Tis because she has worked for me 
before,” was the quiet answer; “because 
she is a cold-blooded old creature, who 
fears neither God nor man, and has neither 
heart nor soul — have you, Selma? When 
we drove by the camp in the hollow the 
other day, and I saw her stirring her 
gypsy broth, I felt Old Nick himself had 
put her in our way. She has been a circus- 
rider and a fortune-teller; and she has not 
wandered around the world seventy years, 
fooling people out of their money and 
wits, without learning a trick or two worth 
paying for. If you want this child out of 
your way — ” 

“ You mean the old woman will take 
her — take a girl old enough to talk and 
tell? ” said Lindsay, walking the floor ex- 


150 


Old Selma s Story 


citedly. “ The girl is no baby to be stolen 
away. Her friends here will search the 
whole countryside for her.” 

“ Yes, they will search,” said the old 
gypsy, nodding — “ they will search, and 
they will find the little lady in the old well 
under the willows — the deep, dark old 
well that everybody has forgotten — 
where she will go to-night looking for a 
pot of gold. She will neither talk nor 
tell.” 


CHAPTER XI 

A VISIT TO NEW YORK 

ly/TARJORIE was skipping gaily 
homeward, her little errand at Mrs. 
Lacy’s done, and her loving heart glad 
with the hopes of saving and helping her 
kind friends at Manor Hill, when sud- 
denly the brisk clatter of a pony’s hoofs 
sounded on the highway, and Bert Bol- 
ton’s cheery voice hailed her: 

“ Halloo, Marjorie! What sets you off 
at such a pace this morning? Anything 
wrong at Manor Hill? ” 

“ No,” answered Marjorie, as both she 
and Bert slackened up for a chat. “ I 
just feel good — like skipping and jump- 
ing for joy to-day.” 

“ You look like it,” said Bert, with a 


151 


152 


A Visit to New York 


kind glance at the pretty, rosy face, 
framed by dancing curls. “ How are god- 
mother and Rex and Rosabelle, and every- 
body? I’d like to stop, but I haven’t 
time. I’m off with father by the noon 
train.” 

“ Off where? ” asked Marjorie. 

“ New York,” answered Bert, with ill- 
concealed jubilation — “New York at 
last! Father has been promising me a trip 
with him for two years. Something al- 
ways stopped us before, but I’m going 
now, sure. Just been down to the store to 
buy some new collars. Can’t wait for 
clothes or anything. Father got a tele- 
gram this morning, asking him to come 
right on. Judge Lindsay has just got back 
from Europe and wants to see him. He is 
only stopping for a few days on his way 
to Colorado Springs, so we have to move 
quick.” 

“Lindsay!” said Marjorie, softly — 
“ Lindsay! What a pretty name! ” 


A Visit to New York 153 

“ You bet it is, a regular tiptopper! ” 
responded Bert. “ Father met the old 
gentleman in Paris last year, and they 
took a great shine to each other. But 
I’ve no time to gad or gabble now. Tell 
everybody good-bye for me, Marjorie; 
and take care of yourself while I’m gone. 
Don’t tumble into any more creeks.” 

“ I won’t,” laughed Marjorie. “ I’ll 
miss you dreadfully, Bert; but I’m glad 
you are going to have such a grand time. 
Good-bye — good-bye ! ” 

And Marjorie, standing by the road- 
side, waving her hand to him, while her 
brown curls blew over her pretty face, 
was a picture that stirred the boy’s kind 
heart pitifully even in this hour of de- 
light. 

“ Poor little thing! There are not 
many good times ahead for her, especially 
if there is going to be the smash-up every- 
one talks of at Manor Hill. Golly! it’s 
an awful thing to be left like that, with- 


154 


A Visit to New York 


out father or mother or home or any- 
thing! And such a nice, pretty, jolly lit- 
tle girl, too — worth a dozen of that 
mealy-faced Eveleen Hill, who thinks 
nothing good enough for her.” 

And the picture of lonely, loveless lit- 
tle Marjorie lingered in Bert’s mind 
through all the glad excitement of his de- 
parture. Was it only the contrast of his 
own happy lot with that of the little or- 
phan girl? Or was some good angel keep- 
ing the rosy face, with it’s wind-blown 
curls, in her boy-friend’s thoughts, as he 
'sfras whirled away on his joyous journey 
by his father’s side — the wise, kind father 
who had always made his boy a chum? 

“ I should have brought you with me 
in any case,” he said to Bert; “ but I am 
especially glad to have you come with me 
to meet Judge Lindsay. He is a splendid 
specimen of a generation that is passing 
away. Something of a Spartan, perhaps ; 
but a strong, noble, high-souled gentle- 
man.” 


A Visit to New York 


155 


“ I don’t think I’d like a Spartan — for 
a father, at least,” said Bert. “ You suit 
me exactly in that line. Has he any 
boys? ” 

“ No,” answered his father, “ no family 
at all. He has been a widower for many 
years. He is very reserved about his per- 
sonal affairs; but I learned that he had 
had one daughter, who made an unfor- 
tunate marriage, against his will, and died 
under his displeasure. I fancy he is the 
sort of man who would not readily for- 
give or forget.” 

“ If he had had a crowd of boys and 
girls like you, he would have learned to 
do both,” returned Bert, with a loving re- 
membrance of many forgiven trespasses 
of his own. 

“ Perhaps,” laughed his father. “ Boys 
and girls can teach a great deal, I confess. 
The Judge has a nephew, I understand, 
who is his heir. But he struck me as a 
man with a void in his great heart — a 


156 


A Visit to New York 


void that no money or power could fill.” 

And then the conversation turned to 
pleasanter things, for it was Bert’s first 
long journey from home, and everything 
was fresh and new and delightful to him. 
Even when the sun sank below the fast- 
flying hilltops, and the violet dusk deep- 
ened, and the train, starred now with elec- 
tric lights, dashed on like some strange 
meteor through the darkness, Bert sat 
contentedly by the window, watching the 
dim outlines of the panorama half re- 
vealed without; the heavy gloom of the 
overhanging mountain, the silvery sheen 
of the river, the twinkling lights of village 
and hamlet by which he swept. 

And, through the darkness as through 
the light, the little figure he had left by 
the wayside seemed strangely present to 
his thoughts — motherless and fatherless 
little Marjorie, with her rosy face and 
dancing curls, waving him her cheery 
good-bye. Even when they reached the 


A Visit to New York 


157 


great city, and in his bed at the hotel Bert 
fell asleep at last, it was to dream that he 
saw his little friend walking over the mill- 
dam on a single tottering plank, while the 
swollen waters seethed and foamed in fury 
below. 

“Marjorie! Marjorie!” he exclaimed, 
springing up in terror, to meet the smil- 
ing gaze of his own kind father, who stood 
full dressed beside him. 

“Awake at last!” he said. “I have 
been calling you for full five minutes. 
Jump up and dress, so we can have our 
breakfast and start out at once.” 

And, rubbing his sleepy eyes, Bert 
realized where he was, and that his “ good 
time ” had begun. 

Their first visit was to the old-fashioned 
hotel where his father’s friend was stay- 
ing. They were ushered into an elegant 
suite of rooms overlooking a quiet park. 
A bright coal fire burned on the hearth, 
and before it, seated in a great cushioned 


158 A Visit to New York 

chair, was an old gentleman, stately and 
handsome still in spite of his pallid, hag- 
gard face and snowy hair. 

“ My dear Bolton! ” he said, his listless 
eyes brightening at sight of his visitor. 
“ This is good of you, indeed! ” 

“ Don’t stir — don’t stir! ” said Judge 
Bolton, kindly; and, as the old man tried 
to rise, he stepped forward and cordially 
grasped his extended hand. 

“We have come, you see, quick as steam 
could bring us. This is my boy, Bert, of 
whom you have heard me speak.” 

“Ah! yes, yes — often!” And Judge 
Lindsay held Bert’s hand for a moment 
in a friendly clasp. “ A chip of the old 
block, I hope.” 

“ I hope so, too, sir,” was the frank, 
boyish answer. “ The old block can’t be 
improved upon, I am sure.” 

“Good! good!” exclaimed his father’s 
friend, well pleased. “ That’s the way 
to talk and think, my boy. Take seats, 


A Visit to New York 159 

both of you. I am pretty well used up, 
Bolton, — pretty well used up. I have 
come home — or to the land I call home — 
to die.” 

“Tut! tut!” was the cheery answer. 
“ You mustn’t talk like that, Judge. It’s 
altogether un-American. We never say 
4 die ’ here, you know. A few draughts 
of that free air beyond the Rockies will 
make a new man of you.” 

“ No,” answered the other. “ It’s too 
late, Bolton, — too late. The springs of 
life have been broken this many a year. 
I’ve been simply fighting it out to the 
end, as all but cowards must. But now — 
well, the doctors say they can do nothing 
more.” 

“What is the trouble?” asked Judge 
Bolton, sympathetically. 

“ Really, I don’t know; and the doctors 
can’t tell me, for no two of them think 
alike. A man of sixty ought not to break 
down like this; but it is, as I said, the 


160 


A Visit to New York 


spring of life that is broken — the old 
clock run down. I feel too tired to fight 
it out any longer in a world where I have 
neither love nor hope. But I did not send 
for you to croak like this. There are 
some matters of confidential business I 
want to leave in your hands — matters 
that I do not wish to trust to my heir. If 
your boy will step into the next room, he 
will find plenty of pictures and knick- 
knacks to amuse him. I have held this 
suite of rooms for a number of years, 
even during my absence ; but am about to 
have all my personal belongings packed 
and stored. There are many curious 
things from all lands.” 

As Bert, taking the hint, stepped into 
the adjacent room, out of hearing, the old 
Judge went on: 

“ My will is made, Bolton. I have al- 
ways been a stickler for the old laws of 
heritage — the line direct; so I have left 
the bulk of my property to the nearest of 


A Visit to New York 161 

my blood and name — my dead brother’s 
son. He is not all that I could wish, but 
let that pass ; he is my natural and right- 
ful heir. But — ” the speaker hesitated, 
as if he found it difficult to go on — 
“ there is a page in my life long closed 
and sealed — one which only for a trusted 
friend would I open and turn. I had a 
nearer and closer tie, Bolton, — a daugh- 
ter dearer to me than my life. All that I 
had was hers. My past, present, future, 
my love, my hope, my pride, were centered 
in her; and what her beautiful budding 
youth was to me no words can say. And 
she deceived me, defied me, disobeyed me.” 
(The old man’s voice grew hoarse and 
shaken.) “She ran away from me to 
marry one whom I had forbidden to enter 
my doors; and this after I had sworn to 
her, Bolton — sworn — that, if she be- 
came his wife, I would disown her for- 
ever — would never see her or speak to 
her, or call her my child again.” 


162 


A Visit to New York 


“ And you, her father, kept that vow? ” 
said his friend, gravely. 

“ Aye, I kept it! ” was the low, broken 
answer — “ kept it to the bitter end. My 
God! Bolton, think of the love I had lav- 
ished on her; of the fatherly pride and 
hope crushed and blighted; of my broken 
heart! She left me and went I neither 
knew nor asked where. Letters came, I 
returned them unopened until they came 
no more. Then, in my bitterness and pain, 
I left home and spent two years in Egypt 
and the Orient. And one day — it was 
under the columns of old Karnak, Bolton, 
— I saw in a home paper, lent me by a 
tourist as we rested together in the shade, 
that — that she, my girl, was dead — had 
been dead for months, for the paper was 
an old one. How, when, where she died 
I did not ask. I felt it would have wrung 
my heart too bitterly to know. I only 
knew that she was gone — gone forever , 
neglected, forsaken, un forgiven.” 


A Visit to New York 


163 


“ Say no more, dear friend,” observed 
Judge Bolton, as the speaker’s voice gave 
way. “ I am a father and can under- 
stand.” 

“ The thought of her has been before 
me night and day ever since,” continued 
the old man, mastering his emotion. “ I 
wish to put that thought into some endur- 
ing form, that may atone a little for the 
past — a memorial — a home, hospital, or 
chapel, that shall bear the name of ‘ Mar- 
jorie Lindsay,’ and be a blessing and — ” 

A loud crash and cry from the next 
room interrupted the speaker. 

Judge Bolton sprang to his feet in 
alarm. 

“Bert!” he cried. “Bert!” 

“ O father, Judge Lindsay, I am so 
sorry!” said Bert, appearing on the 
threshold, pale with dismay. “ I’ve broken 
the vase — the beautiful Japanese vase! ” 

“My precious Satsuma!” exclaimed 
its owner. “ But never mind, Bolton! I 


164 A Visit to New York 

ought to have known better than to turn 
a live boy loose among thousand-dollar 
porcelains. It’s my fault. Never mind ! ” 
“ Bert, Bert, how could you be so care- 
less?” said his father, reproachfully. 

“ O father, it — it wasn’t carelessness, 
indeed! I was so — so stunned and — 
startled that I knocked against it — I 
don’t know how. For the picture — the 
picture seemed Marjorie herself!” 

“Marjorie!” echoed Judge Lindsay, 
breathlessly. “ Marjorie who? Where? 
What does the boy mean? ” 

“ The picture — that big painting in 
the corner,” stammered Bert. “ It’s a lit- 
tle girl I know ; and it took me all aback 
to see her here just as I left her yester- 
day. It’s Marjorie Mayne.” 

“ My God! ” exclaimed Judge Lindsay, 
starting from his chair, white and shaken. 
“ What are you saying, boy? Marjorie! 
Marjorie Mayne! What is he talking of, 
Bolton? ” 


A Visit to New York 


165 


“ A little girl taken from the orphan 

asylum in B by some good neighbors 

of ours,” explained Judge Bolton. 

“ The orphan asylum — the orphan 
asylum?” repeated Judge Lindsay, in 
great agitation. “ And — and she is like 
that picture, you say? ” 

“ Gee whizz! yes,” answered Bert. “ I 
never saw anything more like. I thought 
it was Marjorie stepping right out at me, 
sir.” 

“ My God, if it should be — oh, if it 
should be!” murmured the old Judge, 
trembling in every limb. 

“ My dear friend, be calm, be calm! ” 
said Bert’s father, anxiousl “ What has 
so excited you? ” 

“ Do you not understand? ” cried the 
old man, hoarsely. “ Do you not under- 
stand ? There may have been a child that, 
in my pitiless obstinacy, I never heard of 
— a child left to the cold charity of a cold 
world ? For my girl, my poor lost darling. 


166 A Visit to New York 

was Marjorie Lindsay Mayne. My girl , 
Bolton! And this child, who bears her 
name, whose likeness to her so startled 
your boy — my God, I must see her ! Take 
me to her, Bolton, — take me at once! ” 

“ My dear friend, think! You are not 
strong enough, well enough, for this ex- 
citement.” 

“ Strong! well! My heart is beating as 
it has not beaten for years — with new 
life, new hope, new love, man! Marjorie 
Mayne ! Like that picture — the portrait 
painted when my girl was twelve years 
old! O Bolton, in God’s name take me to 
that child at once! ” 


CHAPTER XII 

OUT IN THE DARKNESS 

“V/TARJORIE had hurried home after 
^ A her parting with Bert, rosy and 
happy and hopeful again. True, now and 
then a doubt of the old gypsy would 
flicker across her gladness, only to be 
driven away; for, as Marjorie naturally 
thought, why should the old woman fool 
a poor little girl like her with a story of 
hidden gold, when there was nothing to 
gain by it? And, after all good Miss 
Martha’s prayers and novenas, surely it 
would not be strange if Manor Hill were 
saved even by ways more wonderful than 
this. So it was a blithe little Marjorie 
that went back to her work, singing the 
old St. Vincent hymns, as she polished up 
167 


168 Out in the Darkness 

the big silver candlesticks, where the altar 
tapers had dropped their waxen tears dur- 
ing the Mass. 

“ Little Marjorie is herself again,” said 
Miss Martha, as the sweet notes of the 
Ave Sanctissima floated up to the bed- 
room where the two old sisters were care- 
fully folding lace and linen and vestments, 
to pack away in the big cedar chest. 
“What a bright little song bird she is! 
We shall miss her sadly, Susan, when she 
leaves us.” 

“ Yes, indeed! ” was the brief reply. 

“ I’ve been thinking,” continued Miss 
Martha, as she wrapped the priestly man- 
iple tenderly in its tissue-paper — “ I’ve 
been thinking, ever since our Mass, how 
wilful and headstrong I have been, 
Susan.” 

“ You! — wilful and headstrong!” ex- 
claimed Miss Susan. 

“Yes: wilful and headstrong, dear, in 
making you hold on to the place as I have 


Out in the Darkness 169 

done, against your better judgment. You 
were ready to give it up months ago, as 
Judge Rowe advised. You were always 
the braver and stronger and wiser, Susan. 
I was the weak, the rebellious one. I could 
not make the sacrifice; it seemed too — 
too hard. But the other day, at the foot 
of our little altar, Susan, light was given 
to me — light and strength. I felt that 
I could submit to God’s will ; that we, the 
last of the Talbots, must not shrink from 
the Cross that is our heritage, Susan, — 
one which those of our blood and name 
have always borne bravely and nobly. So 
I don’t want you to struggle any longer, 
dear sister. Jeb is too old and weak for 
the spring ploughing and planting. Let 
us give up the place at once, as our friends 
advise.” 

“ Martha, no, no! ” Miss Susan’s voice 
was husky and broken. “ I told you we 
would fight it out, and we will; yes, 
please God, we will! " 


170 Out in the Darkness 

“But we can not, Susan; everybody 
knows it and sees it. You are thinking 
only of me. I know that, too. So let 
us fight no more. When I looked up at 
the Talbot Cross last Sunday, and thought 
of all it taught, all it meant, Susan — 
pain, torture, imprisonment, exile at last 
— exile for all our race in a land then so 
strange and distant and perilous as this — 
I felt I was a weakling indeed to shrink 
from the sacrifice God wills for me. Asa 
Greene has been pressing you for pay- 
ment, I know — though you have tried to 
hide it from me.” 

“He has — he has been pressing me 
hard,” said Miss Susan, bitterly. “ And 
while we still have a few dollars left, 
Martha, it would be best.” 

“ I understand,” was the calm reply — 
“ I understand and agree with you. Then 
write to him at once. Tell him he can 
have Manor Hill next week.” 

And then it was poor Miss Susan’s turn 


Out in the Darkness 171 

to drop into the big armchair behind her, 
and burst into a strange passion of tears. 
And, while gentle Miss Martha drew the 
strong old gray head to her breast, and 
spoke words of comfort and cheer, 
through the dim old house, fast tottering 
to its fall, rose a young voice clear and 
sweet as the warble of a springtime bird. 
“Ave Sanctissima ” sang Marjorie, as she 
rubbed her candlesticks into glitter and 
gleam, 

Ave Sanctissima! 

The shadows gather near; 

Ora pro nobis! 

O Mother Mary, hear! 


“Aunt Nance,” asked Marjorie that 
evening as, her own work done, she 
perched herself on the kitchen table where 
the old cook was kneading her dough for 


172 Out in the Darkness 

the morning bread, “ did you ever hear 
of anybody finding a pot of gold? ” 

“ I dunno ’bout a pot, chile,” replied 
Aunt Nance, “ but I heern of ’em finding 
a chist.” 

“ Oh, a chest! ” echoed Marjorie, with 
brightening eyes. “ Why, that’s bigger 
than a pot! ” 

“ Yes, dey was big folks, honey — too 
big to go fooling round wif pots. ‘Twas 
a young lady I knowed — Miss Firginny 
Peyton.” 

“ Tell me about it, please, — tell me all 
about it, Aunt Nance! ” pleaded her little 
listener, eagerly. 

“Well, dey was big people, you see, 
honey. De Peytons was fust-class peo- 
ple, de biggest and de fustest in de county, 
wif lands dat stretched way up and down 
de ribber, and so many collud people you 
couldn’t count dar heads; and de barns 
and de granaries and de smokehouses 
fairly busting wif corn and terbaccer and 


Out in the Darkness 173 

bacon, and ebberyting de Lord gives you 
ter eat. And up in the de great house, de 
pantries and de presses and de closets 
was jest packed and piled wif linen and 
china and glass and silver and gold, good 
’nough fur kings. For de Peytons had 
been rich and great so long, dey did not 
know whar tings come fum. Dey had so 
much — teapots and sugar-bowls and 
forks and spoons, dat was dar grand- 
mothers and dar great-grandmothers, 
and dar great-^rmf-grandmothers — jest 
piled up round ’em like de mosses round 
a big rock. But de rock was stirred at 
last, chile. De war bust out and de whole 
arth shook. De Colonel went off wif his 
regiment, and he was killed; and Master 
Jack and Master Archie warn’t long be- 
hind him; and den de ole Missus peaked 
and pined till she died, too. Dar was no 
one left but Miss Firginny, a little girl 
no bigger dan you. 

“And den one night de sojers come 


174 Out in the Darkness 

along wif dar guns and dar cannons ; and 
all de collud folks scattered like chaff in 
de winds, ’cept ole Aunt Till, who was de 
Peytons’ ‘ mammy ’ ; and she run off wif 
Miss Firginny, troo de swamp lands in 
de black ob de night, to Judge Norton’s, 
ten miles away. She run so hard and fast 
dat she got de digestion ob de brain and 
died next day. And Miss Firginny 
growed up as fine and pretty a young 
lady as ever was seen in de county, dough 
she hadn’t father or mother or nobody, 
and was dat poor she didn’t have two cot- 
ton gowns to her back. And de ole Peyton 
place got wusser and wusser, till de roof 
was down and de chimbleys all tumbled 
in; and de barns and de smokehouses and 
de granaries dun crumbled and rotted 
away; and dey warn’t no one but crack- 
brained ole Aunt Reah and de lame turkey 
gobbler left on de place. 

“ It was hard times fur de last ob de 
Peytons, shuah, till one day Miss Firginny 


Out in the Darkness 175 

was down in de bushes picking currants 
for Mrs. Norton’s jelly, when her little 
feet went down in a hole whar de dogs 
had been nosing; and dar was a chist — a 
big black chist — filled wif silver and gold 
and ebberyting fine: teapots and coffee- 
pots and jugs and candlesticks, watches 
and rings, and chains and necklaces, 
spoons and forks; and ebberyting packed 
and piled and scrouged in that big chist, 
whar Aunt Till had hid ’em away fum de 
sojers, before she run off wif Miss Fir- 
ginny ten years before.” 

“ And Miss Firginny mended the old 
house and put up the roof and fixed every- 
thing? ” asked Marjorie, eagerly. 

“ Dat she did,” answered old Nance. 
“ Dar ain’t a prettier place now in de 
whole county. I been dar and dun saw it, 
chile.” 

“ Oh, wasn’t that fine? ” said the little 
girl, with dancing eyes. “ I’m so glad 
you told me; because it’s a true story, I 
know, Aunt Nance.” 


176 Out in the Darkness 

“True! Laws, yes, honey! Miss Fir- 
ginny dun married Mr. Gordon Graves, 
and got some ob dat berry silver shining 
on her table now.” 

So Aunt Nance’s story effectually set- 
tled all Marjorie’s doubts. What had 
been, could be. “ Miss Firginny ” was a 
glittering beacon of hope and faith, in the 
gathering shadows. 

Little guessed good Miss Martha, as 
she recited the evening prayers in the fad- 
ing firelight, of the wild, distracting 
thoughts filling the curly head bowed at 
her side — of the sore need there was for 
the nightly intercession against the 
“ snares of the enemy ” spread for the 
heedless little girl under her care. 

“ Oh, I hope I am not doing anything 
bad!” thought Marjorie, as, her good 
friends locked in their bedrooms for the 
night, she crept softly down the darkened 
stairs. “ But I’ve got to try and find the 
gold for poor Miss Martha, even if it 


Out in the Darkness 177 

scares me to death to go out in the dark — 
goodness, what’s that? ” as she felt a cold 
touch upon her hand that made her almost 
scream outright. “ O Rex, dear old Rex! 
I forgot you were there on the hall rug, 
taking care of us! There, now, — down, 
Rex! and hush, hush! You can’t come 
with me to-night. You would fly at old 
Selma and spoil all. You can’t — can 3 t 
come with me, Rex ! ” 

So, noiselessly shutting the door upon 
this last friend, Marjorie stole out into the 
night alone. 

And, oh, how strange and still it seemed 
out in the darkness! Marjorie stood 
breathless for a moment on the great pil- 
lared porch, feeling she could not leave 
its friendly shelter. How black and 
lonely and awful it looked under the shad- 
ows of the tall, bare oaks and down the 
long stretch of the road! 

Marjorie had never before faced alone 
the terrors of night, and her brave young 


178 Out in the Darkness 

heart chilled. How warm and safe the 
old house seemed, with its big porches 
stretched out like sheltering wings in the 
darkness ! — the kind old house that Asa 
Greene would pull down unless — unless 
she could help and save! Ah, at that 
thought Marjorie’s heart warmed! She 
drew one long, shuddering breath and 
sped like a winged thing down the road. 


CHAPTER XIII 

ANOTHER FRIEND IN NEED 

LD Lem was late in coming home 
to his shack that night. He had been 
at the mill for a bag of meal, and had 
lingered for a smoke and chat with his 
crony, the miller, who had just begun work 
for the spring. 

With Buck shambling lazily at his heels, 
the old trapper had taken the short cut 
across the marsh meadows — a lonely and 
perilous patch excepting for practised 
feet like his. High on the shadowed hill 
above him he could see the night-light that 
burned before Miss Martha’s little ora- 
tory, twinkling through the darkness like 
a star. The sight brought tender thoughts 
of his good friends to the old man’s mind. 

179 


180 Another Friend in Need 

“ It’s too late for us to stop, I reckon, 
Buck, — too late for any sort of ’spectable 
people to hev company. But I’ve hed this 
here whistle cut for the little girl a week.” 
He dived into his pocket and felt for the 
elaborately carved bit of wood on which 
he had spent hours of patient work. “ But, 
laws, that purty little creetur was in bed 
and asleep two hours ago, I reckon! Hallo, 
what is it, old boy? ” — as, with a low, 
angry growl, Buck paused with pricked 
ears. “ Somethin’ cornin’ you don’t like, 
eh? Lay low, then, old chap, — lay low! ” 

And, with the hunter’s instinct, dog and 
man stood noiseless and alert in the 
shadow, as hobbling down the narrow path 
came a crooked, hooded old woman, and 
by her side — by her side! Old Lem 
caught his breath in speechless amazement 
as the sweet, twittering little voice fell on 
his ear: 

“ O Selma, I’m afraid — I ? m afraid! 
Are you sure this is the way? Are you 
sure the pot of gold is here? ” 


Another Friend in Need 181 

“ Yes, little lady; it’s not far now, — 
not far. The stars are pointing it out to 
me. It’s just — just — ” 

But old Selma never finished her speech. 
With a snarl and a cry, Buck and his 
master were out upon her — Buck’s 
fierce, hoarse bay waking the echoes ; while 
old Lem, catching her by the neck, panted : 

“ You consarned old catamount! What 
devil’s work are you up to? Whar are 
you takin’ this little girl? ” 

A cry of mingled terror and relief broke 
from little Marjorie, while the old gypsy 
fought and screeched like a wildcat in 
Lem’s iron grip. 

“ Oh, don’t hurt her — don’t hurt the 
poor old woman, please ! ” exclaimed Mar- 
jorie. “ She wasn’t doing any harm. We 
were going to find a pot of gold.” 

“ A pot of gold! ” echoed old Lem, his 
grasp relaxing somewhat in sheer amaze- 
ment. 

“Oh, yes, yes!” sobbed Marjorie, ex- 


182 Another Friend in Need 

citedly. “ Oh, don’t make her scream like 
that! She is so old and weak.” 

“Weak!” echoed the old trapper, 
grimly. “ She will be weaker than this 
before I get through with her. Shut up, 
you old wildcat, while I find out what sort 
of devil’s trick you have been playin’ on 
this child! ” 

“ Oh, she will never, never tell now! ” 
wailed Marjorie. “ She will never tell us 
where the gold is, and I wanted it so dread- 
fully! ” 

“You wanted gold!” exclaimed Lem, 
feeling his hunter’s wits quite unequal to 
the situation. 

“Yes, yes : to pay Asa Greene so that he 
won’t take Manor Hill from Miss Susan 
and Miss Martha, and pull the dear old 
house down, and make cow-stables of it,” 
sobbed the little speaker. 

“You poor little innocent ijit!” said 
the old trapper. “ So that’s what you 
were out after. But what you were after, 


Another Friend in Need 183 

you old hag,” lie added grimly to his pris- 
oner, “ that’s another thing. There’s 
some black work behind this, or my name 
ain’t Lem Stokes.” 

“I ain’t hurt the child!” cried old 
Selma, shrilly. “ I haven’t laid a finger 
on her. You can’t say I hurt a hair of 
her head.” 

“ You hevn’t, no — I’ll agree to that. 
But what you might have done, you old 
witch-hag, if Buck and me hadn’t struck 
your trail when we did — what you meant 
to do, is what Lem Stokes is goin’ to find 
out. So come along! Trip on in front of 
us with Buck, sissy. I’m holdin’ on to 
this here old catamount till I lock her up 
safe and fast somewhar for the night.” 

In vain the old woman struggled: she 
had to move on helplessly, in the trap- 
per’s wiry grip. So it was a strange pro- 
cession that took its way back to Manor 
Hill, and startled the two good spinsters 
from their first nap. 


184 Another Friend in Need 

“ Great Heavens! what is it?” cried 
Miss Susan, springing up as the front 
door shook under old Lem’s thunderous 
knock ; while Buck and Rex barked fierce 
defiance at each other, and old Selma’s 
shrieks made a very pandemonium 
without. 

“ Don’t skeer, ladies, — don’t skeer! ” 
called a familiar voice. “ It’s only me — 
Lem Stokes. I’ve brought back yer little 
girl.” 

“Our little girl!” gasped both ladies, 
wondering if the old trapper had suddenly 
gone mad. 

“ It’s I, Miss Martha, — it’s I ! ” piped 
a tremulous little tone. 

“Marjorie!” exclaimed Miss Martha, 
scarcely believing her own ears. “It is 
Marjorie, out in the night! ” 

And then the sobbing, trembling little 
wanderer was admitted to tell the pitiful 
tale, to which the good ladies listened, al- 
most speechless with horror. 


Another Friend in Need 185 

“O Marjorie, Marjorie!” cried Miss 
Martha, tremulously, as soon as she could 
find words. “ I did not think you would 
do anything like this. Deceive me and 
disobey me! I have told you positively 
never to leave the house after night.” 

“ Oh, it was to pay Asa Greene — to get 
the money to save Manor Hill ! ” sobbed 
Marjorie. 

“ She will have to go back to St. Vin- 
cent’s to-morrow,” interposed Miss Susan, 
grimly. 

“ Not even to save Manor Hill should 
you have done anything so wild, so reck- 
less, so wrong, Marjorie,” said the gentler 
sister, with quivering lips. 

“Go to your room, child!” said Miss 
Susan, sternly. “ The Sisters warned me 
what you were, and I should have listened 
to them. Go to your room, and stay there 
in punishment until I tell you to come 
down.” 

And poor Marjorie went upstairs to 


186 Another Friend in Need 

her little nest, to sob herself to sleep; 
while old Lem, having locked his prisoner 
in the woodhouse, held council with Miss 
Susan and Miss Martha in the kitchen on 
the events of the night. 

“ I’ll send the child back to the Sisters 
to-morrow,” said Miss Susan, who, sud- 
denly remembering Father James’ warn- 
ing, was pale and stern with alarm. “ I 
can not — dare not take the responsibil- 
ity of her any longer. Such a reckless, 
heedless little creature ! ” 

“ But such a tender, loving, faithful lit- 
tle heart, Susan! ” said Miss Martha. 

“ Wait a bit, ladies, — wait! Don’t set- 
tle things offhand like this,” interposed 
Lem. “ Give the little girl a chance. 
Judge Bolton will be back to-morrow, 
and he’ll look into this business; and if 
thar’s any devilment back of it, he’ll draw 
it out, if any man can. Jest wait! ” 


CHAPTER XIV 

A DAY OF DISGRACE AND ITS ENDING 

T'HE next day was a long one for the 
A poor little penitent in her white cell 
under the eaves, with only Rosabelle for 
confidante and companion in her sorrow. 
Now that the excitement of hope and ad- 
venture had worn away, Marjorie began 
to realize that she had been a very heedless, 
foolish little girl, and had justly incurred 
her good friends’ grave displeasure. 

Aunt Nance, who brought up her din- 
ner, was not able to afford much consola- 
tion; though there was no stint in the 
chicken and apple dumplings provided for 
the little prisoner. 

“ Oh, are they going to send me away, 
Aunt Nance? ” 


187 


188 A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 

“ Dunno, chile, — dunno. Miss Susan’s 
got her lips shut together monstous tight; 
and Miss Martha seems tumble cut up, 
for shuah. But de Lawd knows, ez I tole 
Uncle Jeb, you couldn’t help it, chile. Dat 
ole witch critter jes nachally conju you 
out ob de house, and you’s obleeged to 
go. She ’bout de dangerousest ole witch 
ebbah come long hyah. When Marse Lem 
Stokes tuk her out ob de woodhouse to 
fotch her ober to Judge Bolton, she ’most 
spit fire, she wor so mad. What she 
conju a little gal like you for, I don’t 
know; but she dun it, shuah. Bress de 
Lawd, she didn’t get a chance to turn you 
into a toad frog ober dar in de swamp ! ” 

And, though Marjorie could not accept 
Aunt Nance’s view of the situation, things 
looked gloomy enough for her, as the long 
day wore on, and her fate still seemed to 
be in doubt. Rosabelle’s stare was not 
sympathetic, and the little brown birds 
beneath her window were too busy with 


A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 189 

their housekeeping to give even a twitter 
of compassion to her forlorn state. 

“ Oh, Miss Susan will send me back to 
St. Vincent’s, I know! And what will 
Mother and Sister Angela say when they 
hear I ran off with an old gypsy woman 
in the middle of the night? What will 
they say? I’ll be kept in penance, oh, 
for days and days, I know! And all the 
girls will giggle and whisper; and that 
kitty-cat of a Nellie Deane will come here 
in my place; and I’ll never, never again 
see Manor Hill or Miss Martha or Rex 
or Bert, or anybody! O Rosabelle, Rosa- 
belle! I’ll be an orphan always now, and 
never anybody’s own little girl again ! ” 

And, quite overcome by the despairing 
thought, poor little Marjorie flung her- 
self on the bed, and sobbed herself and 
Rosabelle to sleep. And, what with her 
night of excitement and her day of de- 
spair, Marjorie slept long and heavily, 
while the sun went down behind the cedars 


190 A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 

and the darkness came on — a darkness 
in which a new Star of Fortune was rising 
for the unconscious little sleeper. 

“Marjorie! Marjorie!” 

It was Miss Martha’s voice that at last 
roused her; and she started up impetu- 
ously, to fling her arms around the slender 
form bending over her in the dim candle- 
light. 

“ O Miss Martha, dear Miss Martha, 
forgive me this time! I’ll never be heed- 
less or disobedient again. I’ll be good al- 
ways — indeed I will, Miss Martha! I 
only wanted to get the money to save 
Manor Hill, and keep your heart from 
breaking, as everybody said it would if 
you had to leave your dear old home. For- 
give me this time, dear Miss Martha ! Oh, 
I just felt I must do anything to save 
Manor Hill! ” 

“ I know, dear child, — I know! ” Miss 
Martha was trembling strangely. “We 
will not talk of that now, dear. You must 


A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 191 

jump up and smooth your hair, and come 
downstairs at once. There is some one to 
see you.” 

“ Oh, you are going to send me away, 
you are going to send me away! ” 

“No, dear, — no; not if we can help 
it,” was Miss Martha’s fluttered answer, 
as she nervously tied Marjorie’s apron 
and smoothed down her ruffled curls. 
“ Come, dear — come ! ” 

And, half -bewildered, half-awake, poor 
little Marjorie followed the gentle lady 
down the broad stairs to the sitting-room, 
where a tall, white-haired old gentleman 
sat talking to Miss Susan. 

“Here is our little girl, Judge Lind- 
say,” said Miss Martha. 

And as the lady drew forward the 
pretty, little shrinking figure, with its 
tousle of red-brown curls and its bright 
shining eyes, a hoarse cry broke from 
the visitor’s lips and he started to his 
feet. 


192 A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 

“ My God, it is herself again ! It is 
Marjorie — my child, my child! 

Then, for the first time in all her re- 
membrance, bewildered little Marjorie 
was clasped in the strong arms that had 
suddenly regained all their life and vigor, 
and was held to a heart throbbing with 
fatherly love and grief and joy and re- 
morse — all combined; while Miss Mar- 
tha’s gentle voice murmured, tremulously : 

“ Oh, thank God, you have found her! 
Thank God, our little Marjorie is blessed 
and safe at last! ” 

What a bewildering evening it was for 
Marjorie! Half a dozen times she had to 
pinch herself sharply to be quite sure she 
was awake. It was so altogether novel 
a thing to be perched upon a grandfather’s 
knee, with his arm about her waist and 
her curly head drawn down upon his shoul- 
der, as if he could not let her go even for 
a minute from his sight and hold ! It was 
such a strange and remarkable thing to 


A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 193 

hear his deep voice tremble as he called 
her his dear little girl, his Marjorie — his 
own! It was such a very startling thing 
to learn that he was the Judge Lindsay 
of whom Bert had told her, and who was 
so rich and great and wise and good! It 
. was such a delightful thing to hear, as she 
sat there on his knee in the firelight (Miss 
Susan and Miss Martha having kindly 
disappeared), that this grandfather in- 
tended to spend the rest of his life in mak- 
ing her happy — in giving her everything 
her heart could wish! 

“ Oh, I wish for one thing so much! ” 
said Marjorie, gaining courage as she felt 
the hand threading her red-brown curls 
with loving touch. “ But it’s a great big 
thing, grandfather.” 

“ What c great big thing 5 does my little 
girl want so much? ” was the smiling ques- 
tion. 

“ Asa Greene is going to take Manor 
Hill — all this home — from Miss Susan 
and Miss Martha.” 


194 A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 

“ Never! ” said the Judge, decidedly — 
“ not while we have a pocketbook to save 
it, Marjorie. That’s not a big wish at 
all. Think of something else.” 

“ Could we — prop up the — south 
porch?” asked Marjorie, eagerly. 

“We will build a new one, darling! ” 

“ And mend the kitchen chimney? ” 

“Ah, my poor little darling!” — the 
speaker’s voice shook and he drew Mar- 
jorie with sudden tenderness to his heart. 
“ Listen, my pet ! These things are all 
past for you, dear. You are to have no 
work, no cares, no troubles, Marjorie. I 
have houses and lands, and money more 
than I can spend, my little girl ! And all 
is to be yours — all, all! Now make a 
big wish for your own sweet little self.” 

But Marjorie only drew a long, happy 
sigh, and nestled closer in the strong arms 
that enfolded her. 

“ Oh, I don’t want anything more — 
I don’t want anything, except to be your 


A Day of Disgrace and Its Ending 195 

own, only little girl always — always and 
forever, grandfather ! ” 

And the tears that welled up in the old 
man’s eyes at the loving, childish words 
were the baptism of a new life to him. 


CHAPTER XV 


st. Vincent’s picnic 

T T was fully a week before Marjorie 
A quite realized the situation — before 
she understood that the “ Star of Love ” 
had risen over her path in all its beauty 
and brightness. Of the evil shadows that 
threatened to darken that path so cruelly, 
she never heard; she knew only that old 
Selma had died in a fit, brought on by 
rage and excitement at her imprisonment. 
But before dying, the old gypsy told 
Judge Bolton enough to cause an investi- 
gation, which not only revealed the cruel 
plot against little Marjorie, but fully es- 
tablished her claims to her grandfather’s 
love and care. Young Lindsay fled from 
the country, disgraced and beggared;while 
196 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


197 


Gresham secured his own safety by be- 
traying his accomplice and sending to 
Judge Lindsay the letters and papers of 
his lost child. 

“He deserves a halter!” said the old 
gentleman to Judge Bolton, as they dis- 
cussed the situation in the latter’s office. 
“ This villain has had a grudge against 
me for many years. I exposed and de- 
nounced his rascality, and had expelled 
him from the courts.” 

“ He came very near avenging it,” an- 
swered Judge Bolton. “ But we have no 
witnesses against him, and the child is now 
safe forever. You not only can forgive, 
but try to forget, my friend, in the new 
love and joy that have come to you — * 
forget! ” 

And the old Judge took his friend’s ad- 
vice, and put this black evil shadow of the 
past away from him forever. 

Marjorie, having at last found the 
“ fairy wand ” of her childish dreams. 


198 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


waved it lovingly and generously. Manor 
Hill was not only saved from Asa Greene, 
but bought outright by the Judge on 
liberal terms, that made its old mistresses 
independent and comfortable; securing 
them a home for life with the little girl 
they had learned to love as their own; and 
giving them the happy assurance that, 
when they were gone, Marjorie would 
hold the dear old place as her most pre- 
cious inheritance. 

“ And we’ll build up the porch and prop 
the chimneys, and — and — what else is 
to be done, Marjorie? ” asked her grand- 
father, pinching her cheek as, perched on 
his knee, she looked over the big legal 
papers that had just been signed by the 
two old ladies with tears of joy and grat- 
itude. 

“Oh, fix everything!” said Marjorie. 
“ Mow the lawn and plant the garden and 
mend the fences, and get Rex a new col- 
lar, and Jeb a new hat.” 


St . Vincent's Picnic 


199 


“ How about new gowns and hats for 
Marjorie?’* asked the Judge, smiling. 
“ How about a pretty phaeton with two 
gray ponies that a little girl can drive? 
You’ve been better than twenty doctors 
to me already, and I must pay for it.” 

“ But you’ve just — just bought Manor 
Hill for me,” said Marjorie. 

“ Not at all ! I bought it for Miss Susan 
and Miss Martha, who have promised to 
take you and me in, since I sold our own 
home a dozen years ago and have been 
camping around in hotels ever since. 
Manor Hill is my business entirely. I’ve 
got those twenty doctors’ bills to pay yet ; 
for I was just getting ready to step into 
my grave when I found this little hand 
stretched out to make a new man of me. 
What would my little girl like best, since 
Manor Hill is safe? ” 

“ Oh,” said Marjorie, with dancing eyes, 
as she felt the fairy wand was really in 
her grasp at last, “ I’d love to give the 


200 St. Vincent's Picnic 

girls at St. Vincent’s a party — a real 
party like Mrs. Grosvenor’s grandfather 
used to give: pink and white ice-cream, 
and chocolate cake, and little bags of 
candy all round. O grandfather dear! ” 
she clasped her little hands excitedly, 
“ could we give St. Vincent’s an Easter 
party? ” 

“We can and we will,” answered the 
Judge, with an odd tremor in his voice. 
“ But St. Vincent’s is rather a dull place 
for a frolic; isn’t it, Marjorie? Suppose 
we bring the party out here and make a 
picnic? ” 

“Out here!” exclaimed the little girl, 
breathlessly. “ Oh, goodness, wouldn’t 
that be splendid? ” 

And the look in the brown eyes settled 
matters. That picnic must be, Judge 
Lindsay resolved, if he had to cable to 
Rome for consent. But there was no need 
for any such extraordinary efforts. 
Mother Thomasina, who had been beam- 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


201 


ing with joy ever since she had heard of 
little Marjorie’s fortune, was quite willing 
to convoy the picnic herself. 

And what a picnic it was! Marjorie 
felt there never had been such a day of 
delight from the beginning of the world, 
as that wonderful Easter Monday, when 
the two big stages hired for the occasion 
rolled into the gates of Manor Hill, and 
fifty little blue-skirted, white-aproned 
girls tumbled out upon lawn and carriage- 
way. 

Everybody was there to see and help 
along the fun: old Mrs. Lacy and Mrs. 
Hill and Miss Betty Crofton; Bert and 
Dick and Eveleen; Mrs. Tibbs and Polly; 
old Lem, his brown face fairly beaming; 
and Father James, who declared he would 
not have missed the occasion for a cardi- 
nal’s hat. 

What a day it was ! How the old place 
rang with glad voices and happy laughter; 
while lawn and grove and garden seemed 


202 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


fairly ablossom with orphan flowers in 
blue and white ! What joyful shouts went 
up under the oaks, as the big swings old 
Lem had rigged up to the sturdy boughs 
went flying skyward under Bert’s mighty 
“ pushes ”! What chattering there was on 
the old croquet grounds, where Dick Hill 
guided mallets and balls! 

What a merry, chattering crowd Mar- 
jorie led to see the new chickens and the 
turkey gobbler and the calf! What a 
wonderful day it was, with Mother 
Thomasina’s mellow laugh making a 
deeper note in the silvery music ; and Sis- 
ter Angela forgetting to chide even when 
Molly Byrne left half her apron on the 
chicken-yard fence! And Nora — dear 
old Nora, who had come with the rest, 
beaming with triumph that Marjorie’s 
“goolden fortune” was found! 

“ I thought you would be dressed fine 
as Helen Grosvenor,” said Nellie Deane, 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


203 


critically regarding the blue skirt and 
white apron of Marjorie. 

“ Oh, no! ” was the quick reply of the 
little hostess. “ I wanted to look just like 
the rest of you to-day. Grandfather! — 
O girls, I do hope you’ll all get grand- 
fathers, too; they’re so nice! — grand- 
father took me to town and bought me 
lots of things: a new hat and coat and 
shoes, and dresses with tucks and buttons. 
But, for real fun, I’d rather have this old 
blue skirt. There’s the very tear I gave 
it in the Zoo last Christmas and that Sis- 
ter Angela made me mend.” 

“ You’ll never have to mend any more,” 
said Nellie, with an envious sigh. 

“ Oh, yes, I will! I’m going to Mont 
Marie to school, and I’ll have to learn to 
do everything. But I’ll come home every 
Saturday and have grand times. Grand- 
father wants me to learn how to row and 
swim and shoot and drive. And I am 
going to have two gray ponies and a cute 


204 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


little phaeton. I’ll come to St. Vincent’s 
and take you all out in turns. Oh, I’ll 
never forget St. Vincent’s and the fun we 
had there together — never!” concluded 
Marjorie, giving the two friends with 
whom she was walking “ arms round ” a 
loving squeeze. 

“ Goodness!” exclaimed Molly Byrne, 
starting as they passed the cedars. 
“ There’s a graveyard! ” 

“ Yes,” replied Marjorie. “ It’s Miss 
Martha’s. Everybody she loves is buried 
there. And, O girls, won’t it be lovely! 
Grandfather is going to put up a little 
chapel there — a dear little tiny chapel, 
with a beautiful marble altar, in memory 
of my mother, who was his own old little 
girl, like I am now. There’s no church 
near here, and Father James will come 
every other Sunday and say Mass.” 

And Marjorie chattered on confidingly, 
as the little orphan of yore, until a big 
bell called back the ramblers to luncheon. 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


205 


And it was a luncheon — grandfather 
and Miss Martha had seen to that; no 
skimpy little hand-around affair, but a 
real luncheon, spread on long tables under 
the trees; with Father James to say grace, 
and half a dozen grinning waiters to bring 
in creamed chicken and hot biscuits and 
sandwiches, and everything else good. 

What a clatter of knives and forks and 
merry tongues filled the air ! What a mo- 
mentary hush of breathless delight when 
the ice-cream appeared, in all sorts of sur- 
prising shapes — towers and baskets and 
birds and flowers, that seemed almost too 
pretty to eat! How the fun rose again 
when the French “ kisses ” were popped 
hilariously, each disclosing some gay little 
favor, and Marjorie handed around the 
pretty boxes of French candy to be taken 
home! 

And, finally, what a chorus of joy aros£ 
when Humpty Dumpty himself came 
tumbling in on the scene, from no one 


206 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


knew where — a truly wonderful Humpty 
Dumpty, who could twist himself into 
anything, and did tricks for an hour or so, 
finishing up by playing football with his 
own head, which he pitched up a tree! 
Some of the tiny tots were so overcome at 
this that he had to turn a somersault and 
appear with the new head of a laughing 
clown, who informed the company that he 
had in his pocket just fifty- two tickets for 
the circus next week; and if they could be 
of any use to Miss Marjorie Mayne’s 
friends he would leave them with Mother 
Thomasina, with fifty-two dimes for the 
necessary adjuncts to a circus ticket: pea- 
nuts and pink lemonade. 

All St. Vincent’s Orphan Asylum going 
to the circus! Marjorie led the grateful 
cheer that arose at this announcement, 
and felt she couldn’t be awake — that it 
must be a delightful dream. 

And when at last the sun went down 
behind the cedars, and the beautiful day 


St. Vincent 3 s Picnic 


207 


was done, Mother Thomasina marshalled 
her little band on the wide porch of Manor 
Hill; and, while they waited there for the 
big stages to come, Sister Angela clapped 
her hands in the usual signal, and fifty 
sweet little voices rose in music that 
touched every listener’s heart, and made 
old Judge Lindsay look down at his little 
Marjorie with eyes that grew tender and 
misty, as, holding his hand, she led as of 
old the evening hymn: 


Mother of the motherless, 
Mary pure and fair. 

Shield us through the darkness 
With thy loving care; 

Be the orphan’s Mother, 

Hear the orphan’s prayer! 
Ave Sanctis sima! 

Ave Purissima! 

Ora, ora pro nobis! 


208 


St. Vincent's Picnic 


Mother of the motherless. 
Fades the dying day: 

Lead us through the shadows. 
Lest our footsteps stray ; 

Be the orphan's Mother, 
Mother dear, we pray ! 

Ave Sanctissima! 

Ave Purissima! 

Ora, ora pro nobis! 


PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 


Standard Catholic Books 

PUBLISHED BY 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Cincinnati: NEW YORK: Chicago: 

343 MAIN ST. 36-38 BARCLAY ST. 214-216 W. MONROE ST. 


Books marked net are such where ten per cent, must be added 
for postage. Thus a book advertised as net, $1.00, will be sent 
postpaid on receipt of $1.10. Books not marked net will be sent 
postpaid on receipt of advertised price. 


MISCELLANEOUS BOOKS 
Abandonment to Divine Providence. Caussade. net, 

Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Tesniere. net, 
Anecdotes and Examples Illustrating the Catholic 
Catechism. Spirago. net, 

Angels of the Sanctuary. Musser. 

Announcement Book for Sunday Masses. net, 

Art of Profiting by Our Faults. Tissot. net, 

Assertio Septem Sacramentorum or Defence of the 

Seven Sacraments, by Henry VIII. O’Donovan, net, 
Autobiography of St. Ignatius. O’Conor. net, 

Beginnings of Christianity, The. Shahan. net, 

Benedicenda. Schulte. net, 

Blessed Sacrament Book. Lasance. Cloth, 1.50; 
Leather, 

Blossoms of the Cross. Giehrl. 

Book of the Professed. Vols. I, II, III. Each, net, 
Boy-Saver’s Guide. Quin. net, 

Buds and Blossoms. Colton. net. 

Cases of Conscience. Slater. 2 vols. net. 

Catechism Explained. Spirago. net. 

Catholic Belief. Faa di Bruno. Paper, net, 0.10; Cloth, net. 


Catholic Ceremonies. Durand. Paper, 0.20; Cloth, 
Catholic Girl’s Guide. Lasance. 

Catholic Home Annual. 

Catholic Practice at Church and at Home. Klauder. 


Paper, 0.25; Cloth, 

Ceremonial for Altar Boys. Britt. net, 

Characteristics of True Devotion. Grou. net, 

Child Prepared for First Communion. Zulueta. Per 
100. net, 

Christian Apologetics. Devivier. net, 

Christian Education. O’Connell. net, 


Christian Father. Cramer. Paper, 0.15; Cloth, 
Christian Mother. Cramer. Paper, 0.15; Cloth, 

1 


0 50 

1 25 

1 50 
0 20 

1 25 

0 50 

2 00 

1 25 

2 00 

1 50 

2 00 
1 25 

0 75 

1 35 

1 25 
3 50 

2 50 
0 35 

0 50 

1 25 
0 25 

0 60 
0 35 
0 75 

3 00 

2 00 
0 60 
0 35 
0 35 


Christian Mysteries. 4 vols. Bonomelli-Byrne. net, 5 
Christ in Type and Prophecy. Maas. Vols. I and II. 

Each, . net, 2 

Christ’s Teaching Concerning Divorce. Gigot. net, 1 
Church Treasurer’s Pew Collection and Receipt 

Book. net, 1 

Clergyman's Handbook of Law. Scanlan. net, 1 

Come, Let Us Adore. Hammer. 0 

Commandments and Sacraments, Instructions on the. 

Liguori. Paper, 0.13; Cloth, 0 

Compendium Juris Canonici. Smith. net, 2 

Compendium Sacr.* Liturgi.®. Wapelhorst. net, 2 

Compendium Juris Regularium. Bachofen. net, 2 

Concordance of Holy Scriptures. Williams. net, 3 

Confessional, The. Wirth. net, 1 

Consecranda. Schulte. net, 1 

Correct Thing for Catholics. Bugg. net, 0 

Counsels of St. Angela. net, 0 

Data of Modern Ethics Examined. Ming. net, 2 

Devotions to the Sacred Heart for the First Friday 

of Every Month. Huguet. net, 0 

Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, The. Noldin, net, 1 

Dignity and Duties of the Priest. Liguori. net, 1 

Divine Grace. Wirth. net, 1 

Divine Office. Liguori. net, 1 

Dogmatic Theology, Outlines of. Hunter. Vols. I, 

II, III. Each, net, 1 

Ecclesiastical Dictionary. Thein. net, 5 

Education of Our Girls. Shields. net, 1 

Elements of Eccles. Law. Vols. I, II, III. Smith. 

Each, net, 2 

Encyclical Letters of Pope Leo XIII, The Great. net, 2 

Eucharistic Christ, The. Tesniere. net, 1 

Eucharistic Lilies. Maery. 1 

Explanation of Bible History. Nash. net, 1 

Explanation of the Commandments. Rolfus. net, 1 

Explanation of the Creed. net, 1 

Explanation of the Gospels and Catholic Worship. 

Lambert. Paper, 0.20; Cloth, 0 

Explanation of the Holy Sacraments. Rolfus. net, 1 

Explanation of the Mass. Cochem. net, 1 

Explanation of the Our Father and the Hail Mary, net, 0 

Explanation of the Prayers and Ceremonies of the 
Mass. Lanslots. net, 1 

Explanation of the Salva Regina. Liguori. net, 0 

Extreme Unction. 0 

Flowers of the Passion. 0 

For Frequent Communicants. Per 100. 3 

Four Last Things. Cochem. net , 0 

General Confession Made Easy. Konings. 0 

General Introduction to the Study of the Holy 

Scriptures. Gigot. net, 2 

General Introduction to the Study of the Holy 

Scriptures. Abridged. Gigot. net, 1 

General Principles of the Religious Life. Verheyen. net, 0 

2 


00 

00 

50 

00 

35 

75 

35 

00 

50 

50 

50 

00 

50 

75 

25 

00 

40 

25 

50 

60 

50 

50 

00 

00 

50 

25 

25 

00 

60 

00 

00 

50 

00 

25 

75 

25 

75 

10 

50 

00 

75 

15 

50 

50 

30 


Gentleman, A. Egan. net , 0 

Gift of the King, The. 0 

Glories of Divine Grace. Scheeben. net , 1 

Glories of Mary. Vols. I and II. Liguori. Each, net , 1 

Glories and Triumphs of the Catholic Church, The. 2 
God, Christ and the Church. Hammer. 2 

Goffine’s Devout Instructions. 1 

Golden Sands. 3 vols. Each, net , 0 

Great Means of Salvation. Liguori. net , 1 

Great Supper, The. Coube. net , 1 

Greetings to the Christ Child. 0 

Growth and Development of the Catholic School 

System in the United States. Burns. net , 1 

Guide for Sacristans. net , 0 

Harmony of the Religious Life. Heuser. net , 1 

Helps to a Spiritual Life. Schneider. net , 1 

Hidden Treasure. Blessed Leonard. Paper, 0.15; Cloth, 0 
History of American College. Brann. net , 2 

History of the Catholic Church. Alzog. 3 vols. net , 8 

History of the Catholic Church. Brueck. 2 vols. net , 3 

History of Economics. Dewe. • net , 1 

History of the Mass. O’Brien. net , 1 

History of the Protestant Reformation. Cobbet. net , 0 
Holy Eucharist and Frequent and Daily Communion. 

O’Connell. net , 0 

Holy Eucharist. Liguori. net , 1 

Holy Hour. Keiley. 0 

Holy Mass. Liguori. net , 1 

Holy Sacrifice of the Mass Worthily Celebrated, 

The. net , 1 

Holy Viaticum of Life as of Death. Dever. net , 0 

Homilies for the Whole Year. 6 vols. Bonomelli- 

Byrne. net , 7 

How to Comfort the Sick. Krebs. net , 1 

How to Make the Mission. # # 0 

Incarnation, Birth, and Infancy of Christ. Liguori. net , 1 

Index to Liguori Works. net , 0 

In Heaven We Know Our Own. net , 0 

Instructions for First Communicants. Schmitt. net , 0 

Instructions on Marriage, Popular. Girardey. Paper, 

0.15; Cloth, 0 

Instructions to Parents, Popular. Girardey. Paper, 

0.15; Cloth, . 0 

Instructions on Prayer, Popular. Girardey. Paper, 

0.15; Cloth, 0 

Interior of Jesus and Mary. Grou. 2 vols. net , 2 

Jesus Living in the Priest. Millet-Byrne. net , 2 

Lady, A. Bugg. net , 0 

Laws of the Saviour. 0 

Lessons of the Saviour. 0 

Letters of St. Alphonsus Liguori. 5 vols. Each, net , 1 
Life of the Blessed Virgin. Rohner-Brennan. net , 1 
Life of Christ. Businger-Brennan. net , 10 

Life 6f Christ. Cochem-Hammer. net , 1 

LiFr Pope Pius X. 2 


75 

60 

60 

50 

00 

00 

00 

50 

50 

25 

60 

75 

85 

25 

25 

35 

00 

00 

00 

50 

25 

75 

60 

50 

10 

50 

50 

75 

50 

25 

10 

50 

10 

60 

60 

35 

35 

35 

00 

00 

75 

60 

60 

50 

25 

00 

25 

00 


3 


Life of St. Catharine of Sienna. 1 

Life of Sister Anne Katharine Emmerich. McGowan, net, 1 
Life of Ven. Crescentia Hoss. net , 1 

Light for New Times. Fletcher. net, 0 

Lives of the Saints for Children. Berthold. 0 

Lives of the Saints, Pictorial. Shea. 3 

Lives of the Saints, Short. Donnelly. 0 

Lives of the Saints, Little Pictorial. 1 

Lover of Souls, The. Brinkmeyer. net, 1 

Lourdes. Clarke. net, 1 

Manual of Moral Theology. Slater. Vols. I and II. 

Each, net, 2 

Manual of Theology for the Laity, A. Geiermann. 

Paper? 0.25; Cloth, 0 

Marriage Delegation Blanks in book form. net, 0 

Marriage Notification Blanks in book form. net, 0 

Mary the Queen. Religious of the Society of the Holy 
Child Jesus. 0 

Mary, Help of Christians. Hammer. 2 

Means of Grace. Rolfus-Brandle. 3 

Meditations for Every Day. Baxter. net, 1 

Meditations for Every Day. Hamon. 5 vols. net, 5 

Meditations for Every Day. Vercruysse. 2 vols. net, 3 

Meditations for Every Day of Month. Nepveu-Ryan. net, 0 

Meditations for Monthly Retreats. net, 1 

Meditations for Retreats. St. Fr. de Sales. net, 0 

Meditations for the use of the Secular Clergy. 

2 vols. Chaignon. net, 4 

Meditations on the Life, the Teachings, and the 

Passion of Jesus Christ. Ilg. 2 vols. net, 3 

Meditations on the Month of Our Lady. Ferran. net, 0 
Meditations on the Passion. 0 

Meditations on the Last Words of Our Lord on the 

Cross. Perraud. net, 0 

Meditations on the Sufferings of Jesus Christ. 

Perinaldo. net, 0 

Middle Ages. Shahan. net, 2 

Miscellany. Liguori. net, 1 

Moments Before the Tabernacle. Russell. net, 0 

Month, Little, of the Souls in Purgatory. net, 0 

Month of May, Little. net, 0 

Month, New, of the Holy Angels. net, 0 

Moral Briefs. Stapleton. net, 1 

More Spiritual Readings. Madame Cecilia. net, 1 

Mores Catholici; or, Ages of Faith. H. Kenelm 

Digby. 4 vols. net, 25 

Moral Principles and Medical Practice. Coppens. net, 1 

My First Communion. Buchmann. net, 0 

My Prayer-book: Happiness in Goodness. Lasance. 

Cloth, 1.25; Leather, 1 

New Testament. 24mo, flexible cloth, net, 0 

Leather, net, 1 

New Testament. Illustrated. net, 0 

New Testament. (India Paper.) net, 0 

New Testament. 12mo. Cloth, net, 0.75; Leather, net, 1 

4 


00 

75 

25 

60 

60 

00 

60 

25 

00 

00 

75 

60 

50 

50 

60 

00 

00 

50 

00 

50 

75 

00 

75 

50 

50 

75 

50 

50 

75 

00 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

00 

00 

75 

75 

18 

50 

60 

75 

50 


0 50 

0 85 

1 50 

2 00 
0 40 


3 50 
3 75 
0 60 
1 50 
1 50 
0 60 
0 10 


Off to Jerusalem. Benziger. net , 

Our Own Will. Allen. net. 

Outlines of New Testament History. Gigot. net, 

Outlines of Sermons for Young Men and Young 

Women. Schuen. net. 

Paradise on Earth. Natale. net, 

Parish Census Book. net. 

Parish Combination Records for Small Parishes. net, 
Parish Priest on Duty, The. Heuser. net. 

Passion and Death of Jesus Christ. Liguori. net. 

Pastoral Theology. Stang. net. 

Patron Saints. Vols. I, II, III. Mannix. Each, 

Patron Saints. Mannix. Each, 

St. Agnes, St. Aloysius, St. Anne, St. Anthony, St. 

Blase, St. Bernard, St. Bridget, St. Catherine, 

St. Cecilia, St. Charles, St. Clare, St. Elizabeth, 

St. Francis Xavier, St. Helena, St. Joseph, St. 

Louis, St. Margaret, St. Martin of Tours, St. 

Michael, St. Monica, St. Patrick, St. Philip Neri, 

St. Rose of Lima, St. Teresa. 

Pearls from Faber. Brunowe. 

Perfect Religious. D’Orleans de la Motte. 

Pew Collection and Receipt Book. 

Philosophia Morali, De. Russo. 

Political and Moral Essays. Rickaby. 

Practical Catholic. Palau-Ryan. 

Praxis Synodalis. 

Preaching. Liguori. 

Preparation for Death. Liguori. 

Priest in the Pulpit. Schuech. 

Principles, Origin and Establishment of the Cath- 
olic School System in the U. S. Burns. 

Private Retreat for Religious. Geiermann. 

Pulpit Sketches. Lambert. 

Rights of Our Little Ones. Conway. 

Queen's Festivals, The. 

Reasonableness of Catholic Ceremonies and Prac- 
tices. Burke. Paper, 0.15; Cloth, 

Registrum Baptismorum. 

Registrum Confirmatorum. 

Registrum Defunctorum. 

Registrum Matrimoniorum. 

Registrum Neo-Communicantium. 

Registrum seu Liber Status Animarum. Large 
edition, net, 3.50; Pocket edition, 

Religious State, The. Liguori. 

Retreats for Sisters, Two. Wirth. 

Rituale Compendiosum. 

Rosary, The. Garesche. 

Rosary, the Crown of Mary, The. 

Rules of Life for the Pastor of Souls. Slater-Rauch. 
Sacramentals. Lambing. Paper, 0.20; Cloth, 

Sacred Heart Book. Lasance. 

Sacred Heart Studied in the Sacred Scriptures. 

Saintrain. net, 2 00 


net, 

net , 
net, 
net, 

net, 

net, 

net, 

net, 

net, 

net, 

net. 


net, 
net, 
net, 
net, 
net , 

net, 

net, 

net, 

net, 

net, 

net. 


0 50 

1 00 
1 00 
2 00 
1 75 
0 60 

0 75 

1 50 
1 50 
1 75 

1 75 
1 50 

1 25 
0 10 
0 60 

0 35 
3 50 

2 50 

2 50 

3 50 
2 50 

0 25 

0 50 

1 00 
0 90 

0 50 
0 10 

1 25 
0 50 
0 75 


5 


St. Anthony. Anecdotes and Examples. Keller. net , 
St. Anthony, the Saint of the Whole World. Ward, net, 
Saint Francis of Assisi: Social Reformer. Dubois, net. 
Sanctuary Boys’ Illustrated Manual. McCallen. net. 

Secret of Sanctity. Crasset. net. 

Sermons for Children of Mary. Callerio. _ net. 

Sermons for Children’s Masses. Frassinetti. net, 

Sermons for Sundays. Liguori. net , 

Sermons for the Sundays and Chief Festivals of 

the Eccles. Year. 2 vols. Pottgeisser. net, 

Sermons from the Latins. Baxter. net. 

Sermons, Funeral. Wirth. Vols. I and II. Each, net, 
Sermons. Hunolt. Complete Edition. 12 vols. Each, 
Sermons, Lenten. Wirth. net. 

Sermons, New and Old. Wirth. 8 vols. Each, net. 

Sermons on the Blessed Sacrament. Scheurer-Lasance. net, 
Sermons on the Devotion to the Sacred Heart. Six. 

Bierbaum. net, 

Sermons, Short, for Low Masses. Schouppe. net. 

Sermons, Short. Hunolt. 5 vols. Wirth. Each, net. 

Short History of Moral Theology. Slater. net, 

Short Stories on Christian Doctrine. net. 

Simple Instructions for First Communion. Per 100. net. 
Socialism and Christianity. Stang. net. 

Socialism: Its Theoretical Basis and Practical Ap- 
plication. Cathrein. net. 

Socialism, Religion and Characteristics of. Ming, net. 
Socialism, Morality of Modern. Ming. net. 

Special Introduction to the Study of the Old Tes- 
tament. Part I. Gigot. net. 

Special Introduction to the Study of the Old Tes- 
tament. Part II. Gigot. net, 

Spirago’s Method of Christian Doctrine. Messmer. net, 
Spiritual Considerations. Buckler. net, 

Spiritual Despondency and Temptations. Michel. net, 


Spiritual Exercises for a Ten Days’ Retreat. Smetana, net. 
Spiritual Pepper and Salt. Stang. Paper, 0.25; Cloth, 
Spirit of Sacrifice and the Life of Sacrifice in 


the Religious State. Giraud-Thurston. net, 

Spoiling the Divine Feast. Zulueta. Per 100, 

Stories for First Communicants. Keller. net. 

Story of the Divine Child. Lings. 

Stories of the Miracles of Our Lord, The. 

Striving After Perfection. Bayma. net, 

Sunday-School Director’s Guide. Sloan. net, 

Sunday-School Teacher’s Guide. Sloan. net. 


Sure Way to a Happy Marriage. Paper, 0.15; Cloth, 
Talks with the Little One About the Apostles’ 
Creed. 

Theory and Practice of the Confessional. Schieler- 

Heuser. net. 

Thoughts and Affections on the Passion of Jesus 

Christ for Every Day in the Year. Bergamo, net, 
Thoughts and Counsels for Catholic Young Men. 
Wirth. net. 


0 75 

0 75 

1 00 

0 50 

1 00 
1 50 
1 50 

1 50 

3 00 

2 00 
1 00 

2 50 
2 00 
2 00 
1 50 

0 75 

1 25 

2 00 

0 50 

1 00 

3 00 
1 00 

1 50 
1 50 
1 50 

1 50 

2 00 
1 50 
1 25 

1 25 
1 00 
0 60 

2 00 
3 00 

0 50 
0 60 
0 60 

1 00 
0 50 
0 50 

0 35 

0 60 
3 50 
2 00 

1 25 


6 


Training of Children. Madame Cecilia. net , 0 75 

True Politeness, Letters on. Demore. net , 0 75 

True Spouse of Christ. Liguori. net , 1 25 

True Spouse of Christ. Vols. I and II. Liguori. Each, net , 1 50 

Veneration of the Blessed Virgin. Rohner-Brennan. net , 1 25 
Victories of the Martyrs. Liguori. net , 1 50 

Visits to Europe and the Holy Land. Fairbanks. 1 50 

Vocations Explained. 0 10 

Way of the Cross. Paper, 0 05 

Way of the Cross. Eucharistic Method. 0 10 

Way of the Cross. Method of St. Francis Assisi. 0 10 

Way of the Cross. Method Jesuit Father. 0 10 

Way of the Cross. Method St. Alphonsus Liguori. 0 10 

Way of Salvation and Perfection. Liguori. net , 1 50 

Way of Interior Peace. Brucker. net , 1 50 

What Catholics Have Done for Science. Brennan, net , 1 25 
What the Church Teaches. Drury. Paper, 0.25; Cloth, 0 60 
What Times! What Morals! Semple. Paper, net , 0 15 

With Christ, My Friend. Sloan. net , 0 75 

With God. Lasance. Cloth, 1.25; Leather, 2 00 

Young Man’s Guide. Lasance. Cloth, 0.75; Leather, 1 25 


NOVELS 


Agatha’s Hard Saying. Rosa Mulholland. 


1 

25 

Back to the World. Champol. 

net , 

1 

35 

Bit of Old Ivory, A. 

net , 

0 

50 

Black Brotherhood. Garrold. 

net , 

1 

35 

Bond and Free. Connor. 

net , 

0 

75 

But Thy Love and Thy Grace. Finn. 


1 

00 

Carroll Dare. Waggaman. 


1 

25 

Circus Rider’s Daughter. Brackel. 


1 

25 

Connor D’Arcy’s Struggles. Bertholds. 


1 

25 

Corinne’s Vow. Waggaman. 


1 

25 

Daughter of Kings. Hinkson. 


1 

25 

Dion and the Sybils. M. Keon. 


1 

25 

Double Knot. 

net . 

0 

60 

Fabiola. Wiseman. 12mo. Illustrated edition. 


0 

75 

Non-illustrated edition. 


0 

50 

Fabiola’s Sisters. Clarke. 


1 

25 

Fatal Beacon. Brackel. 


1 

25 

Faustula. Ayscough. 

net , 

1 

35 

Forgive and Forget. Lingen. 


1 

50 

Friendly Little House. 

net . 

0 

50 

Hearts of Gold. Edhor. 


1 

25 

Heiress of Cronenstein. Hahn-Hahn. 


1 

25 

Her Blind Folly. Holt. 


1 

25 

Her Father’s Daughter. Hinkson. 


1 

25 

Idols. Navery. 


1 

25 

In the Days of King Hal. Taggart. 


1 

25 

In God’s Good Time. Ross. 

net , 

0 

75 

“Kind Hearts and Coronets.” Harrison. 


1 

25 

Lady of the Tower. 

net , 

0 

50 

Let No Man Put Asunder. Marie. 


1 

00 


7 


Light of His Countenance. Harte. net , 0 

Little Cardinal. Parr. 1 

Linked Lives. Douglass. 1 

Marcella Grace. Rosa Mulholland. 1 

Mariae Corolla. Hill. net , 1 

Melchior of Boston. Earls. 1 

Mighty Friend. L’Ermite. net , 1 

Mirror of Shalott. Benson. 1 

Miss Erin. Francis. 1 

Monk’s Pardon. Navery. 1 

Mr. Billy Buttons. Lecky. 1 

My Lady Beatrice. Cooke. net , 0 

Not a Judgment. Keon. 1 

One Afternoon and Other Stories. net , 0 

Other Miss Lisle. Martin. net , 0 

Out of Bondage. Holt. 1 

Outlaw of Camargue. De Lamothe. 1 

Passing Shadows. Yorke. 1 

Passion Flowers. Hill. net , 1 

P£re Monnier’s Ward. Lecky. 1 

Pilkington Heir. Sadlier. 1 

Prisoners’ Years. Clarke. net , 1 

Prodigal’s Daughter. Bugg. 1 

Red Inn at St. Lyphar. Sadlier. 1 

Road Beyond the Town. Earls. 1 

Romance of a Playwright. Bornier. 1 

Rose of the World. Martin. net , 0 

Round Table of German Catholic Novelists. 1 

Round Table of French Catholic Novelists. 1 

Round Table of American Catholic Novelists. 1 

Round Table of Irish and English Catholic Novelists. 1 
Round the World Series. Vol. I. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. II. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. III. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. IV. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. V. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. VI. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. VII. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. VIII. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. IX. 1 

Round the World Series. Vol. X. 1 

Ruler of the Kingdom. Keon. 1 

Secret of the Green Vase. Cooke. net , 0 

Senior Lieutenant’s Wager. net , 0 

Shadow of Eversleigh. Lansdowne. net , 0 

So As By Fire. Connor. net , 0 

Soggarth Aroon. Guinan. 1 

Son of Siro. Copus. 1 

Songs and Sonnets. Egan. 1 

Story of Cecilia. Hinkson. 1 

Stuore. Earls. 1 

Tempest of the Heart. Gray. 1 

Test of Courage. Ross. net , 0 

That Man’s Daughter. Ross. 1 

Their Choice. Skinner. 1 


75 

25 

50 

25 

25 

00 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

75 

25 

60 

75 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

35 

00 

25 

25 

00 

75 

50 

50 

50 

50 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

25 

75 

60 

75 

75 

25 

50 

00 

25 

00 

25 

75 

25 

00 


8 


Through the Desert. Sienkiewicz. 

Trail of the Dragon. 

Training of Silas. Devine. 

True Story of Master Gerard. Sadlier. 
Turn of the Tide. Gray. 

Unbidden Guest. Cooke. 

Under the Cedars and Stars. Sheehan. 
Unravelling of a Tangle. Taggart. 

Up in Ardmuirland. Barrett. 

Vocation of Edward Conway. Egan. 

W argrave Trust. Reid. 

Way that Led Beyond. Harrison. 

Wedding Bells of Glendalough. Earls. 
When Love is Strong. Keon. 

Woman of Fortune. Reid. 

World Well Lost. Robertson. 

JUVENILES 

Althea. Nirdlinger. 

Adventure with the Apaches, An. Ferry. 
As Gold in the Furnace. Copus. 

As True as Gold. Mannix. 

Bell Foundry, The. Schaching. 

Berkleys, The. Wight. 

Best Foot Forward. Finn. 

Between Friends. Aumerle. 

Black Lady, The. Schmid. 

Bistouri. Melandri. 

Blissylvania Post-Office. Taggart. 
Bob-o’-Link. Waggaman. 

Boys in the Block. Egan. 

Brownie and I. Aumerle. 

Bunt and Bill. C. Mulholland. 

Buzzer’s Christmas. Waggaman. 

By Branscome River. Taggart. 

Cake, The, and the Easter Eggs. Schmid. 
Captain Ted. Waggaman. 

Cave by the Beech Fork, The. Spalding. 
Charlie Chittywick. Bearne. 

Children of Cupa. Mannix. 

Children of the Log Cabin. Delamare. 
Clare Loraine. “Lee.” 

Claude Lightfoot. Finn. 

College Boy, A. Yorke. 

Cupa Revisited. Mannix. 

Daddy Dan. Waggaman. 

Dear Friends. Nirdlinger. 

Dimpling’s Success. C. Mulholland. 

Dollar Hunt, The. E. G. Martin. 

Ethelred Preston. Finn. 

Every-Day Girl, An. Crowley. 

Fatal Diamonds, The. Donnelly. 

Five O’Clock Stories. 

Flower of the Flock. Egan. 

For the White Rose. Hinkson. 

9 


net, 1 35 
1 00 
1 25 
1 25 
net, 0 75 
net, 0 75 
net, 2 00 
1 25 
net, 1 25 
1 25 
1 25 
1 25 
net, 1 35 
1 25 
1 25 
0 75 


0 60 
0 45 
0 85 
0 45 
0 45 
0 45 
0 85 
0 85 
0 25 
0 45 
0 45 
0 45 
0 25 
0 85 
0 45 
0 25 
0 45 
0 25 
0 60 
0 85 
0 85 
0 45 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 45 
0 45 
0 60 
0 45 
0 45 
0 85 
0 45 
0 25 
0 75 
0 85 
0 45 


Freddy Carr’s Adventures. Garrold. 0 85 

Freddy Carr and His Friends. Garrold. 0 85 

Fred’s Little Daughter. S. T. Smith. 0 45 

Godfrey the Little Hermit. Schmid. 0 25 

Golden Lily, The. Hinkson. 0 45 

Great Captain, The. Hinkson. 0 45 

Guild Boys of Ridingdale. Bearne. 0 85 

Haldeman Children, The. Mannix. 0 45 

Harmony Flats. Whitmire. 0 85 

Harry Dee. Finn. 0 85 

Harry Russell. Copus. 0 85 

Heir of Dreams, An. O’Malley. 0 45 

His First and Last Appearance. Finn. 1 00 

Hop Blossoms, The. Schmid. 0 25 

Hostage of War. Bonesteel. 0 45 

How They Worked Their Way. Egan. 0 75 

In Quest of the Golden Chest. Barton. 1 15 

“Jack.” 0 45 

Jack Hildreth on the Nile. Taggart. 0 85 

Jack O’Lantern. Waggaman. 0 45 

Juniors of St. Bede’s. Bryson. _ 0 85 

Juvenile Round Table. First Series. 1 00 

Juvenile Round Table. Second Series. 1 00 

Juvenile Round Table. Third Series. 1 00 

Klondike Picnic, A. Donnelly. 0 85 

Lamp of the Sanctuary. Wiseman. 0 25 

Legends and Stories of the Child Jesus from Many 

Lands. Lutz. 0 75 

Little Apostle on Crutches. Delamare. 0 45 

Little Girl from Back East. Roberts. 0 45 

Little Missy. Waggaman. 0 45 

Loyal Blue and Royal Scarlet. Taggart. 0 85 

Madcap Set at St. Anne’s. Brunowe. 0 45 

Making of Mortlake. Copus. 0 85 

Marks of the Bear Claws. Spalding. 0 85 

Mary Tracy’s Fortune. Sadlier. 0 45 

Master Fridolin. Giehrl. 0 25 

Melor of the Silver Hand. Bearne. 0 85 

Milly Aveling. S. T. Smith. 0 85 

More Five O’Clock Stories. 0 75 

Mostly Boys. Finn. 0 85 

My Strange Friend. Finn. 0 25 

Mystery of Cleverly. Barton. 0 85 

Mysterious Doorway. Sadlier. 0 45 

Mystery of Hornby Hall. Sadlier. 0 85 

Nan Nobody. Waggaman. 0 45 

Ned Rieder. Wehs. 0 85 

New Boys at Ridingdale. Bearne. 0 85 

New Scholar at St. Anne’s. Brunowe. 0 85 

Old Charlmont’s Seed Bed. S. T. Smith. 0 45 

Old Mill on the Withrose. Spalding. 0 85 

Old Robber’s Castle. Schmid. 0 25 

Our Lady’s Lutenist. Bearne. 0 85 

Overseer of Mahlbourg. Schmid. 0 25 

Pancho and Panchita. Mannix. 0 45 

10 


Pauline Archer. Sadlier. 

Peril of Dionysio. Mannix. 

Percy Wynn. Finn. 

Petronilla. Donnelly. 

Pickle and Pepper. Dorsey. 

Pilgrim from Ireland. Carnot. 

Playwater Plot. Waggaman. 

Poverina. Buckenham. 

Queen’s Page. Hinkson. 

Queen’s Promise. Waggaman. 

Race for Copper Island. Spalding. 

Recruit Tommy Collins. Bonesteel. 

Ridingdale Flower Show. Bearne. 

Romance of the Silver Shoon. Bearne. 

Rose Bush, The. Schmid. 

Sea-Gulls Rock. Sandeau. 

Seven Little Marshalls. Nixon-Roulet. 

Seven Little Marshalls at the Lake. Nixon-Roulet. 
Shadows Lifted. Copus. 

Sheer Pluck. Bearne. 

Sheriff of the Beech Fork. Spalding. 

St. Cuthbert’s. Copus. 

Strong Arm of Avalon. Waggaman. 

Sugar-Camp and After. Spalding. 

Summer at Woodville. Sadlier. 

Tales and Legends of the Middle Ages. Copella. 
Talisman, The. Sadlier. 

Taming of Polly. Dorsey. 

That Football Game. Finn. 

Three Girls and Especially One. Taggart. 

Three Little Kings. Giehrl. 

Told in the Twilight. Mother Salome. 

Tom Losely: Boy. Copus. 

Tom’s Luck-Pot. Waggaman. 

Tom Playfair. Finn. 

Tooralladdy. Walsh. 

Transplanting of Tessie. Waggaman. 

Treasure of Nugget Mountain. Taggart. 

Two Little Girls. Mack. 

Violin Maker, The. Schaching. 

Wayward Winifred. Sadlier. 

Winnetou the Apache Knight. Taggart. 

Witch of Ridingdale. Bearne. 

Young Color Guard. Bonesteel. 


0 45 
0 45 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 45 
0 60 
0 85 
0 45 
0 60 
0 85 
0 45 
0 85 
0 85 
0 25 
0 45 
0 45 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 45 
0 75 
0 60 
0 85 
0 85 
0 45 
0 25 
0 85 
0 85 
0 45 
0 85 
0 45 
0 60 
0 85 
0 45 
0 45 
0 85 
0 85 
0 85 
0 45 


The following catalogues will be sent free on application: 

Catalogue of Benziger Brothers’ Standard Catholic Publications. 

Catalogue of School Books. Catalogue of Premium Books. 

Catalogue of Prayer Books. Catalogue of Libraries. [Books. 

Catalogue of Imported Books. Catalogue of Latin and Liturgical 

A copy of “Catholic Books in English” now in print in America 
and Europe will be sent on receipt of 50 cents. Bound in cloth, it 
contains over 5,000 titles and over 300 illustrations of authors. 
Supplements will be issued from time to time to make the cata- 
logue as complete as possible, and these will be furnished free of 
charge to those ordering “Catholic Books in English.” 

11 


c/js 









. 





































































4 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



ODOESbfl^DlA 



